


S P E C T R U M

by the_never_was



Category: Characters from Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - J. K. Rowling/Thorne, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adulthood, Amicable Exes, Complicated Relationships, Divorced Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Drarry, Emotional, Family Issues, Fatherhood, Fluff, Gen, Growth/Trust, Humor, M/M, Other, Post War/Au-ish/Not related with C.C. plot, Romance/Angst, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-03 21:56:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 70
Words: 165,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13350330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_never_was/pseuds/the_never_was
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a smirk and a smile when there was so much fear between the two of them.Once upon a time, he had wondered what could be.Thus, life as he's come to know it is based upon once-upon-a-times and what-ifs left to be unfulfilled.But life isn't quite as he knows it to be, and things are about to change and prove to Draco Malfoy that it isn't all bleak or boring:It's a spectrum of vibrant possibilities when one determined Gryffindor decides to change everything.





	1. a l a b a s t e r

**Author's Note:**

> [All right, folks. Welcome to Spectrum, a story that started based on a letter I'd been writing from Draco that, with a nudge in a new direction, became less of a one-shot and more of a hey, where's this going kind of thing. 
> 
> Due to the theme with chapter names, they'll be uploaded separately rather than as one big long one-shot; I'll also do this simply because otherwise it might be even longer before you see any of it for me to be entirely finished to post at once. Chapters will vary in lengths from rather short (on purpose, of course, think of some _Denouement_ sections) to medium sized and longer depending on content. This means the first upload will be a handful of chapters to get you settled and started, and after that, likely one a day or two every other day as with _Denouement_ before. We'll see. 
> 
> This is a rather emotional piece that sticks us in the frame of mind of a regretful and curious adult who's made decisions and been forced to go along with others left now wondering what the hell is going on and how to react with vast amount of incoming changes to what he knows to be accepted by all as normal life. I've already made one person cry with some previews, but I promise it'll be funny and warm and sexy in all the right places and times, too.
> 
> Thanks, all. 
> 
> Please keep looking back for other one-shots and stories I'm working on, too, for this pairing.
> 
> Best,  
> the_never_was]
> 
>  
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]

 

 

 

**\- S P E C T R U M -**

  
  
  
  
  
  


1.

 

a l a b a s t e r

 

 

He never says the name aloud, not even in his thoughts.

He can't. He does, and he's done for, and he knows it.

And that leaves him stuck here, as he's been for years, left to simply read about Him like a commoner, like the rest of them He doesn't know.

But He knew him once. He did, he thinks, with what little truth that Gryffindor brain could glean, what little his rival had begun to wonder about there at the end.

And he knew Him. At least he thought he did.

Yet here they are, married and fathers, and he finds himself sitting as isolated as possible unable to stop thinking of the prick.

He doesn't know why, after all these years. He just wishes it would stop.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Title and chapters are inspired by a theme of Beck's "Colors" song and video, since their name choices can allow us to infer even more about emotions and scenes than we might think at first.  
> Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8I1B4n_8Cto  
> Lyrics: https://genius.com/Beck-colors-lyrics  
> Titles chosen from lists on Wiki's "List of Colors."
> 
> Additional suggested music:  
> "The Ghost In You" - The Psychedelic Furs  
> "Missing You" - John Waite  
> "It's Better Not to Say Anything" - Dream Suicides  
> "Trouble" - Cat Stevens  
> "Steamroller" - Phoebe Bridgers  
> "The Night We Met" - Lord Huron  
> "Mystery of Love" - Sufjan Stevens  
> "Zoo Station" - NIN cover of U2  
> "Time is a Runaway" - The Alternate Routes  
> "So Here We Are" - Bloc Party  
> "Dreams" - The Cranberries  
> "Into the Open" - Heartless Bastards  
> "Let Me In" - Grouplove  
> "Fotzepolitic" - Cocteau Twins  
> "Tomorrow" - Electric Youth  
> "Can't Help Falling In Love" - twenty one pilots Cover  
> "eating ice cream" - Stevia Sphere (https://steviasphere.bandcamp.com/album/hammock)  
> "Moment of Nostalgia" - Crozet  
> "Bloom" - Troye Sivan  
> "Don't Be Shy" - Cat Stevens  
> "Lost Horizon" - VNV Nation  
> "Rain, in Your Black Eyes" - Ezio Bozzo  
> "Hunger" - Florence + The Machine  
> "Modigliani (Lost in Your Eyes)" - Book of Love]


	2. m a i z e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

2.

 

m a i z e

 

 

He sees Him when the pair enter the shop's door across the rooms, and his heart pounds alive, beating for the first time in nearly a decade.

He sees Him—lean still, lightly muscled still, smiling still in that crooked way behind different glasses with the same enchanting green eyes below dark wild hair and a jagged, permanent scar.

He sees Him steer a smaller version of himself with hints of Weasley in the nose and chin towards some robes in the front, explaining and recommending quietly in his soft, yet firm voice as the boy under his fatherly grasp smiles upwards and nods in trust.

He sees Him smile, too, but he sees the off look to it, the vacancy, the emptiness that _he_ feels and has _every_ day except for one in the last years—the day He had gotten him free from the Ministry. The emptiness had been filled that day entirely, and it had drained itself within an hour of leaving His side, only able to attempt to refill itself with his own son's birth.

He sees Him nod encouragingly to the boy as another witch comes out for measurements.

“Father?” he hears softly behind him.

He turns, looks upon the pale hair like his, the soft face with its bit of point like his at that age, and the eyes burning with curiosity not aimed at Him but at His son.

He sees his son's lips part and those curious eyes widen as His boy laughs at something He says to him.

And his heart sinks.

For he sees that look in his son's gaze, and he knows.

“Who is that, Father?” Scorpius asks him quietly as his own measuring wizard leaves them to check on a material stock.

He sees Him take a moment to glance about the shop as he waits and watches, and then their eyes meet.

Time stops. Becomes meaningless.

They stand here, in this shop in Diagon Alley, and they stand here, in any room and any hall in Hogwarts, float upon brooms here above the quidditch pitch, stare here in the Manor with Death Eaters breathing down his neck before they stand _here_ , across from one another in a bathroom in terror, both needing to speak, both afraid, and both fighting for their lives.

They stand here, and he throws his wand again, watching the Hero defy death all around him.

They stand here with two sons both watching them in confusion and imagination.

His lips part as He sees Scorpius, too.

And he takes his son by the hand, mutters at the wizard behind them to owl when the robes are ready, and quickly pulls Scorpius towards the door.

He sees Him contemplate stopping them, sees that nagging Pott—His need to investigate and poke.

He sees Him stand still, though, uncertain for one of the few times in the Gryffindor's entire life.

He doesn't see Him when they exit the shop.

He doesn't see His eyes upon his back.

But he feels them.

He always has, and when his son asks again about the other boy, it's all he can do not to get on his knees and beg his own child to give up.

Don't go down that path, he wants to say, for it has no end without thorns and isolation.

Don't go down that path, he wants to say, for your heart will forever be silent and broken.

“His name is Albus Potter,” he says instead, hoping with the new light in his son's eyes that perhaps fate will be different, even if it throws he himself into worse situations. Even if it means breaking his code of never thinking of that _name_ again.

When Scorpius walks next to him past the shop's window, gazing inside to stare at the boy one last time with a shy smile to himself, his heart aches.

For he does it, too, seeing Him.  
  
  
  
  
  


 


	3. q u i c k s i l v e r

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

3.

 

q u i c k s i l v e r

 

 

He should have known better, yes, he knows that.

He should have been prepared for the onslaught of reawakened dreams of a childish heart and a teen cock combining into a pining adult that wants what he cannot have regardless of right or wrong.

He should have considered that Potter is forever woven in his tapestry of getting fucked by a coyly smirking Fate, and it is not long after that that He pounces, like the great big lion He is.

For two days later he takes Scorpius to pick up the robes and retrieve anything else left on their list, and while he protectively keeps an eye on a nasty old witch glaring at he and his son as they come up an alley, he doesn't pay direct attention to the body coming past the corner down the street.

They smack into each other with force that he hasn't felt in years, with familiarity bordering on memories of shoves and sneers and subtle hints of dare and _please_. And almost as if appearing on schedule for the fucking famous red train, his hormones snap aware and ready, his body slightly eager behind his thankfully looser robes.

Scorpius stands to his left as he rights himself, muttering a quick apology under his breath as he hopes to immediately move onward and past the walking, breathing form of Temptation that Fate has decided to take.

But Potter's hands are steady, and Potter's eyes are firm, and he is completely at the mercy of the Chosen One again there in the street with all the eyes upon them.

“Didn't scuff your boots, did I?” Potter asks him, face full of teasing mirth. “Wouldn't want _that_.”

He says nothing, just scoffs and rolls his eyes, and gestures for Scorpius to walk on ahead.

“Dad,” he hears behind him from Potter's young boy. “Why won't he talk to you?”

“There are some things, Albus, that can't be spoken in words, and there are some bonds that don't require them,” Potter replies sagely, as if those years of him being a prat prowling about the school and grounds and turning lives upside down belong to someone else wearing his robes.

He stops a moment, _feeling_ the challenge in those words, the cowardice implied as much as the understanding and kindness extended, and Scorpius pauses, too, in front of him with concern.

His ego refuses him to _run_ from such a gauntlet thrown at his feet. It only allows him _escape_ from what might be detrimental to his heart, his marriage, his entire image if the world only _knew_.

So he turns enough to glance over his tall shoulder, knowing that there is _one_ thing he could do that would speak volumes without words, _one_ thing that Potter would know in an instant every bit of its meaning, but that _that_ would break every rule he's ever made for himself and every action he's set up to surround himself in his protective lies.

Strength gathering at the very _gall_ of the idea appearing in his head, he dreams it out even as he slowly smirks, feeling the old expression settle right upon his lips as if it had never left.

Potter just smiles, green eyes bright upon his back again when he leaves.

Later his son looks at him over a spot of dessert in another shop, and he asks, “Father, you don't hate him, do you?”

“No,” he says, licking cream from a spoon, tongue sliding over his lower lip in remembrance. “I don't.”

  
  
  
  


 


	4. c o p p e r _ r o s e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

4.

 

c o p p e r   r o s e

 

 

Once upon a time, Potter saved his life from living fire.

Once upon a time, he threw Potter his wand and helped destroy an evil monster.

Once upon a time, Potter hugged him after a Ministry hearing.

Which then became that once upon a time, he surrendered to the cunt that is Fate with her strings and her laughter echoing in the chambers, and once upon a time, he kissed Harry Potter.

Softly. Passionately. Just a brief breathless meeting of open lips to lips while his heart pounded away so harshly and quickly that he'd thought he might actually _die_ from it.

Once upon a time, he had backed away, grey eyes wide in shock at his own action, at the raw unveiling of his emotions inside of it silently communicated directly, literally, from mouth to mouth.

And once upon a time, Harry Potter had grabbed him closer and kissed him back.

It, too, was soft and passionate. It became more than just a brief breathless meeting of open lips while Potter's heart thundered through their tongues tasting one another, that pulse pacing enough for him to feel, too, with his arms about Potter's neck.

Once upon a time, there was a smirk and a smile when there was so much fear between the two of them.

Once upon a time, he had wondered what could _be_.

But once upon a time, they went their separate ways while he waited until he remembered _Her_ and knew why it must be forgotten, knew why _he_ was forgotten in silence, and so once upon a time, he found his own version of her, too, determined to beat Potter at being forgotten if he could do anything at all.

And though there were many once-upon-a-times to be had, there wasn't a happily-ever-after for him.

 

 

 


	5. u m b e r

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

5.

 

u m b e r

 

 

He withstands the hell that it is to pretend for the crowds that he is happily, normally married and bored of them all. He batters against the tension within him, the tension with her next to him, by clinging to the love of his son standing before them both, staring up at them with fear and worry and loss by separation.

His eyes soften just for his child, just for this being of blood that he had had at first for simply duty's sake, and he ignores the whispers nearby as he puts an arm around his son and holds Scorpius's shuddering body to his side, quietly soothing him with a rustle from his fingers through the inherited pale hair.

“You will be fine,” he assures him. “Don't be afraid. Don't listen to what anyone thinks of you, because they know nothing of you at all, the idiots. Only hear what they have to say when it is directly related to something _you_ do or accomplish. Understand?”

The boy nods against him, calming by degrees.

She stands and pats him as well, and they appear for a moment like a real family.

They hear the whistle of the train, hear the excitement buzzing about, and he sends his flesh and blood away with a soft smile of encouragement, hoping that his mistakes and his own father's mistakes will not forever frame his _son's_ life, too. His son is already so different from him at this age, and he couldn't be more proud regardless.

He doesn't want Scorpius to fear when he can do it on his behalf.

He doesn't want Scorpius to listen to anyone else's tripe when all they want is the easy target, the youngling they can attempt to sink their gnawing teeth into when the larger, deadlier snake of a father is away from the nest.

It's only as they step back from the platform, watching their child board with his trunk and begin to search about for a spot, that he turns his head and sees a mixed crowd at the other end, sees a bunch of gingers looking like flowers sprouting from the pavement, and he sees the Weasel and Granger kiss a girl goodbye just as he sees Potter and Her kiss Albus and their oldest, too.

The young cousins disembark: the girl excitedly, the older boy with a smirk, and the younger boy hesitant like his own.

And Potter kneels down before Albus and whispers His own reassurance and gives His own encouraging smile.

He knows he should stop staring. He can feel her eyes upon him at his side with worry for him.

But just for that brief second when green slides up to meet grey, when he feels that shade of envy inside of him at Her awareness and Her own curious stare, too, he knows that the little curt nod he gives before looking again towards the train is received with the same smile he was given once with a kiss—the same smile he was given in the street recently.

It can only mean one thing, and the very implication of it boils his blood.

For Astoria knows, and she's always known because it was _pointless_ to hide it from her when they married and had awkward, partially potion-induced sex until she finally swelled with a son. She wedded him to help hide the truth from his family and in doing so became his closest friend.

But She doesn't know, it seems, and She likely never will because Potter, unlike himself, didn't have all the unspoken words in that kiss burning inside him for _years_ waiting to be shared.

It's later at home, alone as always in his study, that he throws a priceless crystal across the room, shattering it with a scream he knows she won't investigate.

“Fucking _bastard_ ,” he hisses out, as snake as his House, wishing he could just _hate_ Him again.

A smile that had once meant so much now makes his gut roll in revolt, and he sleeps in the study, shards of crystal all around the room reflecting his tortured expression from being strung up and played with for random moments of selfish time, a toy for the lion's fated emotional thread of string.

  
  
  


 


	6. b r u n s w i c k _ g r e e n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

6.

 

b r u n s w i c k   g r e e n

 

 

His son mentions Potter's boy in his latest letter from school, and he must admit he is taken aback at first by how different things are for them.

For one, not only is his son a rightful Slytherin, but so is Potter's. He reads that though Potter has apparently told his child that it's quite all right that he's been Sorted so, that he's known some Slytherins that were great and strong, even naming the boy after Severus himself partly, apparently Potter's son expressed severe concerns at first, confiding in Scorpius and starting a little bond all their own.

As proud as he is for Scorpius to be what none expect of him, to be different than they likely wish, and as strangely approving as he feels over Potter's boy, too, for being Sorted as he was, he hopes that there were some _aghast_ faces among the ginger weeds in their Burrow with _that_ letter home.

Scorpius calls this boy his friend—His Friend Albus.

And it's all he can do to not worry deeply over those three words when he remembers his son's curiosity in the shop, the shy little smile then. It's all he can do to not worry over the now apparently open, unreserved friendship.

His Friend Albus sits by him in nearly every class possible. His Friend Albus eats with him, even sleeps in a bed near his in the dorms. His Friend Albus has been nothing but kind to him, grateful for a friend and terrified, apparently, of being crushed by his heroic father's legacy.

He sits there, staring for Merlin knows how long at that repetitive phrase, well aware of why it makes him bittersweet and happy, yet also entirely envious of his own son.

 


	7. m o o n s t o n e _ b l u e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

7.

 

m o o n s t o n e    b l u e

 

 

Over a decade later, and he still aches when he sees Him in the papers he passes by, when he sees Him with Her out and about accidentally when he breaks down and meets Pansy for lunch near the Ministry.

It's fucking unfair.

He supposes it's what he deserves for all the fighting and agitation with Him, for all his mistakes and the evil he'd been dragged into with his family and a Dark Lord.

And Pansy knows, and she slides him an extra plate of dessert to compensate for the fact that Potter is having lunch, too, with Her three tables away.

“Never let go, huh,” she softly whispers, shaking her head slowly at him.

He says nothing. Just stabs into his tart with more vigor than is necessary.

It's ridiculous, childish, and complicated, but no, his pathetic emotions have _not_ let go. How could they? Years of wanting to get back at Potter for his initial rejection, years of rivaling Potter for attention that turned into years of _rivaling Potter because of_ _wanting Potter_ couldn't simply just vanish all because life and circumstances said so.

Pansy knows about the once-upon-a-times. All of them.

And like Pansy, he has asked himself the question that's still in her eyes. If it was only to walk away, if it was only to go back to Her, why bother doing it at all?

Her answer was, naturally, that Potter does what he does because he's a selfish prick uncaring about anyone else or consequences, so long as his personal motivations are satisfied—so long as he thinks he's done someone a favor, done someone a _good deed_.

He hates her answer because some part of him agrees with it, because he _burns_ at the idea of being an experiment and a pity snog, and he'd thought that over the past long while of barely seeing one another and raising their own children that perhaps it _would_ eventually let itself _go_.

But clearly it has not. Not when he wants to say how horrible that jumper looks on Her.

And he does so, unable to stop it.

“With the money they both make, you'd think she could afford something better made,” he sneers under his breath and takes a sip of wine.

Pansy smiles across the table and sips her glass, too. “I hear it's a family thing. Her mother knits.”

His eyes roll, and he sighs to himself.

He imagines it must be nice to be Potter—loved by all, practically worshipped since childhood, and not having to pretend to be in love, not have to be bound by convenience and vanity's sake.

When he returns from using the loo, paying for the bill as is custom for such lunches with Pansy often sticking him with it as a prank, he's surprised to find her still near the front of the restaurant with her coat, her brows arching.

“What?” he asks her, glancing over his clothing to be sure he's not gotten wet from the sink anywhere.

She clearly debates whether telling him the thing is worth its apparent cost, but then she does it anyway, whispering, “She went to the loo right after you left, and he stared after _you_.”

“So? Fuck him,” he grumbles, not daring to hope for any more once-upon-a-times. “Let him stare all he wants. I won't ever look back _again_. I haven't since Scorpius left on the train.”

Pansy shrugs her shoulders. “Still, watch your back, Draco. He had _that look_ about him. You know the one.”

He waves her off, unable to conjure up a single reason why Potter would have such looks. Potter knows he is a reserved person since around the War, rarely leaving the house unless usually for business reasons, and Potter knows he's up to _nothing_ that needs monitoring.

He steps up the wards around the house that week anyways and avoids the shops or Hogsmeade as the winter rolls in with a nostalgic nag for butterbeer.

He pays attention to nothing but Scorpius's letters, replying to each one with unwavering support and what he hopes to be helpful advice despite this building feeling that _something_ is coming, like a wave over the sea that he swims in without knowing.  
  
  


 


	8. c a d e t

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

8.

 

c a d e t

 

 

Pansy Parkinson might have been quite the mean one growing up, one of the more notorious with his group of select Slytherin students during their Hogwarts time, but she is not wrong or mean at all about her prediction. If anything, she is defensively sympathetic and worried when he confirms her interpretations of Potter's apparent gaze after him from that lunch.

Draco tells her of how his routine business trips into the Ministry now seem to include Potter conveniently passing by where he waits for appointment twice a month.

She sneers over her glass of wine at that particular lunch and tells him to be prepared before she downs the remaining liquid and leaves him with the bill and a peck to the cheek.

He agrees. Entirely. And so he asks for an appointment change time of fifteen minutes earlier than usual, glad when his associate agrees with a shrug.

Draco shows up, smirking to himself for having outdone Potter, and gets to watch as he exits the usually quick appointment with precise timing to see Potter come strolling down the hall in Auror robes, frowning at first to himself when Draco isn't in his usual chair for that second Tuesday of the month. Potter even glances about, confused, then checks a clock on the wall, lips moving over silent words to himself.

Ready, Draco strides out behind Potter from the office door, slams his shoulder into the imbecile, and keeps walking past, not even looking back when he hears the rapid intake of air, exhale, and then frustrated sigh.

He treats himself that night to a bit of lamb cooked to perfection that he arranges to be brought home, and Astoria takes in his mood of grudging annoyance and confidence, smiling to herself and not asking a single question, just relieved to see the bit of _activity_ in him again.

Draco fully expects Potter to be as prepared for his next visit two weeks later, and so he changes the appointment to fifteen minutes after the original time, insisting to his befuddled associate that he'd had an issue that morning and needed the adjustment, terribly sorry to inconvenience, of course.

Potter's nowhere to be seen, thankfully. If he's lucky, Potter's gone on a case or two.

But when he emerges out later, to a still Potter-less hall, he's strangely bothered by that conspicuous lack despite the personal victory.

It's this sense of confusion that disturbs his awareness enough to not notice the steps following his through the Floo and out to Diagon Alley from The Leaky Cauldron. He's both angry and frustrated, and yet he's also melancholic and empty and _needing_ something he doesn't understand. He shakes slightly knowing it's clearly tied to seeing Potter once more.

Draco's observance returns when he enters a Potions shop, preferring the witch's particular brew of Dreamless Sleep over his own for the additional flavor and lack of drowsiness; he stops when he hears the door open behind him as he is rung up with purchases, and the witch's apprentice calls out excitedly, “Oh, hello, Mr. Potter!”

Draco immediately senses the green eyes over his back. He instantly feels every bit of that poking, determined presence. And he quietly takes his bagged purchase and turns to leave, a glare out and proud to where Potter stands by the door, waiting for him.

He ignores Potter waving awkwardly to the apprentice and pays no mind to the steps now definitely registering in his hearing so close to him. But he does turn sharply at random down an alley and girds himself, scowl in place when he spins clutching the bag with the potion and faces Potter head on.

Potter stands before him in the narrow, dimly lit space with a curious expression, one torn between smiling that _way_ and seeming embarrassed.

Draco just cocks his brow, waiting.

And finally the Gryffindor gives, grunting, “I, uh...it's been some time, huh.”

He blinks, inhaling at the audacity.

“How have you been?” Potter asks, rubbing his hand through his hair.

“Fine,” he replies, sounding exhausted.

Clearly Potter doesn't believe him when he steps slightly closer, looking concerned, but he changes the subject and says, “It's...nice, your son knowing mine. Al says Scorpius is very kind to him. Supportive.”

“You seem surprised,” Draco sneers. “As if someone born from _me_ couldn't be.”

Potter holds his hands up briefly, shaking his head. “No, no, I'm really glad. Al needs someone like him. And I know you, Draco. I know you can be lots of things people don't give you credit for.”

Draco wants to crack a thousand insults in Potter's face, but doesn't. As if Potter _knows_ him anymore. As if Potter snogging him showed everything possible when it was left to be forgotten. As if Potter obviously cared enough for what he'd seen that day to continue looking for it.

But Potter glances away and murmurs during his silence, “It's strange, isn't it? Watching them go through it all and be normal and...friends. Al's...mentioned you in a few letters—advice you've given Scorpius that's helped them both in classes or with others. I wanted to thank you.”  
  
If this is a rambling Gryffindor need to thank him or his son for things that don't need such mentions, then he can talk himself into a hole in the ground with his pageant for ego.  
  
“Unnecessary,” Draco grunts and moves to go around Potter. “I need to go home, preferably without you following me.”

A warm, needing hand grabs his free one, and his heart stops for a moment.

He freezes, staring down at it, furious that his fingers had automatically gripped the ones desperately holding him in place. Potter stares, too, almost looking in shock at his own hand's reach, like the bloody thing had had a mind of its own.

It's the expression on Potter's face, though, that has Draco lost in thought to even think of letting go yet. The green eyes are focused upon their fingers; they're wide and open and wetting enough to reflect in the nearby lamp light. Potter's jaw tightens, his brow furrows, and something almost bordering contemplative regret flicks once across his face.

Regret, Draco imagines, that Potter had ever reached at all. That he'd ever kissed _back_.

They both breathe heavily enough to hear it in the dark of the lonely evening before he thaws enough, jerks his hand free and strides away, heart thumping in terror at the fact that a single _touch_ had done so _much_ yet again for him to even respond to Potter's soft, uncertain call of, “See you around, Malfoy.”

When he Apparates home, he sits before the fire. Draco is still breathless, his chest heaving and fingers a bit warmer where Potter's had been. But after looking at them silently for twenty minutes, he goes to wash them off with purpose in his confused bitterness.  
  
  
  


 


	9. b u l g a r i a n _ r o s e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

9.

 

b u l g a r i a n   r o s e

 

 

Some weeks pass of avoiding Potter, though it seems that Potter is doing his own avoidance, too. The emotions roll through him, dragging him into a garden of depressive weeds and thorny once dreams of hopes now making him bleed. He entirely changes his appointment days for his own sanity, and she comes to him and declares the beginning of the end of the routines he knows.

“You're what?” he asks, face blank behind his desk.

She exhales through her softly painted lips and repeats, “I'm dying, Draco. It's coming.”

His brows wing up, his legs following suit forcing him to stand upright almost instantly. He knows about the blood curse. They've known about it for some time. He knows that's why as she continues to pale more and more she paints her lips deadly redder, rivaling and daring Death himself each day with her best presentation.

Not for the first time does he wish he were more than he is for her. Not for the first time does he want her to know that he _does_ find her beautiful, even if he cannot love her entirely.

But no matter her presence, even with the sham of a marriage, even with doing all he's been able to financially to aid her in any way possible with her health or happiness—paying for her visits to a lover elsewhere, too, out of guiltily wishing he could do so as well—even with it all, he doesn't want her to just _die_. They have an arrangement in their unique bond. It works. They're both as satisfied as possible.

Yet misery not only loves but ensnares its company at times, and for that, he hates himself.

“How long?” he asks, thinking of the letter he's going to pen tonight and debate with her about sending to their son. Whether he should just arrive to Hogwarts and bring him home instead to prepare.

“Weeks,” she shrugs, proud and strong. But her eyes are breaking just enough.

Draco walks about his desk and takes her tense form into his arms, chin bowing to rest against the bit of fur gracing her dress. She accepts it after a moment, her brow to his upper chest, the slightest hint of nails entrenching in his sleeve.

He doesn't know what to say. He never has around the dying or dead, let alone his own wife accepting of every bit of his withdrawn self.

And though he worries for her, and though he wants to tell her he's sorry for the life she could have had, part of his mind whispers that it will all be over. That she'll be free one day, free of him, and he will be entirely alone, having lost ties to his parents years ago with Astoria herself never being _enough_ for them.

The loathing at the thoughts keeps him silent the rest of the afternoon, but he does change routine and goes and sits with her after dinner in her rooms, letting her rest against his side the way she had years ago at first before she'd finally understood: It would never be enough. He would never be enough because, for the wrong person, he apparently _wasn't_ , and so for her, he never could be.

Still, she holds his hand before the fire, reaches up to kiss his chin, and murmurs that while his scowl often attracted her attention as a youth below him in Hogwarts, it was starting to set in some wrinkly lines in his adulthood.

He wouldn't want Potter to have to stare at those, now would he?

Draco laughs for the first time in nearly a year at her question and returns the little kiss to her brow.  
  
  


 


	10. c h o c o l a t e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

  
  


10.

  
  


c h o c o l a t e

  
  


His nights are filled with the smile he cannot forget and the touch of hands he doesn't regret, and he sits each morning to a shared breakfast where his ritual of tucking Potter away in his brain happens with a cup of coffee and a checklist of her symptoms.  
  
She is brave through it, enduring the days until he retrieves Scorpius for the summer, and as she grows thoughtful and stows away into her rooms more often, he only peeks through the door occasionally; her owl flies twice in one week, and a new one he doesn't know drops her letters in turn.

It flies the morning he's gone for some potion to ease what pain he can for her when he decides to also step into another shop for some chocolates, too. His decorated prizes are boxed and wrapped kindly by an elderly witch behind the counter when a child rushes past his back, stopping at his side to peek into the large glass holding the grand display of wonderful candies.  
  
She gasps over the swirls and stripes, the little magic dancing candy horses and tied licorice, too. Her hair is red, an exact shade that smacks of Weasley, and he places her then.  
  
And though he's not surprised when he feels Potter coming closer, when he hears the low murmur to calm the excited girl, he jolts nonetheless and stares with wide eyes when the Gryffindor's hand brushes entirely across Draco's lower back before Potter stands close with that haunting smile.

Draco stares at him, ignoring the box shoved at his fingers over the counter on the glass. He can barely register the _lovely_ tight muggle styled trousers and the warm, burgundy jumper chosen for the cool spring morning, for he's too busy wondering if Potter's lost his mind or if Draco is simply feeling yet another tug of the toying string.

Potter says nothing with his hands resting upon the girl's shoulders, hands that she reaches for and grips with excitement as she counts off the numbers of caramels she sees:

One, two, he cannot think. Three, four, his feet are nailed to the floor. Five, six, Potter stares shyly in hopeful mix. Seven, eight, his mind softens, thoughts saturate.

He doesn't understand, but his heart is racing anyway.

“What did you get, Mister?” the girl asks, mercifully distracting him, looking up with a grin _quite_ like her father's.

Draco glances to her and then the pretty red box with its black ribbon in front of his hand.

“Cherry, almond, and coconut with rum,” Draco murmurs, watching her smile blossom more and feeling less awkward somehow for it.

“Coconut with rum?" she asks curiously. "Isn't rum what Uncle Ron drinks? Dad, can I try that one?”

“No, no,” Potter grunts above her, one hand moving to pat her on the head. “That's for adults, Lily, and yes, Uncle Ron drinks it sometimes.”

A hand on his back he doesn't understand, but this opportunity he does.

Draco snickers, looks to the expectant witch behind the counter, and nods his head to the side. Old, thin brows arch, but the witch smiles to herself while she pulls out a coconut and rum chocolate and sets it on the counter with a paper wrap, accepting the sickles from Draco with her free palm. Her shrug when Potter huffs inspires another sickle tossed her way.

Potter glares at him with slight annoyance Draco has bought with satisfaction, but gives in and smirks, and Lily Potter eagerly grabs for her small gift with thrill. She takes a large bite of at least half the little chocolate ball, and then she chews with a scrunched face in her deep childish consideration.

Draco watches her with a tiny smile on his lips, missing the days when his own son used to do almost the exact same thing.

“Well? Is it good?” Potter asks, humored.

Lily giggles and licks her fingers. “Yes! It's strange, Dad, but it's good! I want another.”

Draco snorts while he picks up his box. “That one's on _you_ _._ I've gotten what I paid for.”

“What do you say, Lily, to Mr. Malfoy?” Potter inquires, but that gaze is on Draco and not Lily, open and warm, smugly laughing at him in its green shine.

“Thank you!” Lily calls from a perfect happy smile of chocolate-covered lips.

“You're welcome,” he quietly says and turns away.

He's been taxed enough for today, he thinks, and he has medicine yet to retrieve.

“Draco,” Potter softly speaks, catching his attention. When he stops, the box lightly shaking with his anxious grip at his name in that _wistful_ sound, Potter thumbs the tip of some rolled small parchment in his pocket, murmuring, “Hope you're well.”

He considers Potter and that parchment he tells himself isn't familiar, hears himself shattering that crystal and sees the sad smile of Astoria's red lips.

“As possible, I suppose," he finally grunts, hoping he's wrong about _he knows what_. But the sadness growing in Potter's eyes is defining in truth.

“Good. That's...good," Potter smiles again, pensive in a worrying way. "If...If you need anything...."

And that's when he knows he _really_ must go.

“Are you done babbling? I think she's made three purchases,” Draco swallows with a slight sneer to cover the question caught in his throat, grey eyes darting once to the giddy child pointing out several chocolate shaped animals to try.

Potter dramatically sighs, shakes his head, and focuses on trying to stop his eager daughter from ordering half the stock wrapped up.

And Draco, as he steps out from the shop, suddenly stumbles remembering Potter touching him during that kiss so long ago. 

He still doesn't understand. But a kissed part of him now wants to know.

 

 

 


	11. c a p u t _ m o r t u u m

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

  
  
  


11.

 

c a p u t    m o r t u u m

 

Staying by her bedside for the days after she weakens only seems to enhance the depth of emptiness he feels. He's long known since her initial diagnosis that he will miss her and their strange companionship over it all. He will be lonely without her to share in their mutual agreed loneliness. And he doesn't know what to do for Scorpius alone, doesn't know what to do with himself when he'll be without another body to speak to in an empty house afterwards.

Along with a carefully selected Healer witch, he takes care to ensure her final days are as comfortable as possible. Her tea is prepared routinely without question, left alone only when she's too tired to even sit up enough to drink it. Her papers, letters, and books are read to her in combination by Draco and the witch both, each alternating chapters or responses. Draco even reads to her out of _Witch Weekly_ for her amusement at just hearing his voice over a reader's response say, “The next time Markowitz flies over me in a match, I shall toss my silky knickers. If I'm good enough, maybe they'll stay put on his broom.”

And each morning after the witch cleans and dresses her, he is the one who holds the hand mirror that he'd given her for their marriage, the silver one so beautifully carved and cared for all these years. He holds it perfectly steady with a small smile and quiet eyes, watching as she paints her ruby lips and smirks afterwards.

The final morning as he holds the mirror for her, he knows she is too weak to do it.

Draco sets the mirror upon her lap in the bed and reaches, rubbing the pad of his thumb across her clammy brow. He nods sadly and takes the brush from her vanity, dipping it in the red makeup. She sits deathly still, watching him with wide, shaky eyes as he leans forward to give her the trademark lips of blood.

When he finishes he holds the mirror up again, and she smiles at him, confident and grateful.

“Be sure he's safe,” she whispers as they hear their son's steps running down the hall.

“They've checked him already,” he replies, but nods all the same. “They'll check again.”

She swallows with exhaustion. “Good. And even if it...shows...later, you'll....”

Draco takes her hand, feels the coolness already in it that's slowly taken over her body's circulation the past few days. “I'll be there. I should...should have....”

“We both know no matter what we _could_ or should have done for one another that it wouldn't have been enough,” she reminds him with pursed red lips. “Perhaps now you'll actually tell _him_ the truth.”

“The fuck I will,” Draco growls, free hand in his hair.

Astoria takes a shallow breath to laugh. “Darling, we both _know_ how you feel. But you'd just go on alone, then? That's your boring continued self-punishment?”

His brow arches, and he leans over her. “Not holding back, I see.”

“I'm on my literal death bed. I think it's time, don't you? So _go after_ him. You have my permission.”

Draco huffs, tired and feeling aged with wishful wanting and unforgiving longing, and kisses her cheek. “Unlike me, he'll still be wedded tomorrow to a woman he's given _three_ children without...help.”

“Shh. You've done what you could, given what I...lack,” she says, managing to smile at him before collapsing back upon her various pillows. “Besides, if it helps to know, you're a rather fun lover when your mood is _properly_ prodded. And _I've_ been...there's more to that image of him than you know. His life isn't perfect, Draco, and I wouldn't give you such encouragements unless I believed it would progress with time for all involved, including his family. He has his reasons, and you will see. The two of you have _much_ to discuss, and that's my final gift to you.”

“Hush,” he grunts, hearing Scorpius outside the door. No matter how much he wants to _ask_ , no matter how much he's thought over her mysterious letters and Potter's pocketed parchment and smiling, touching, weird reminders, he knows his son's ears are sharper than most might think.

“Mother?” their son asks through the wood, voice cracking with emotion.

“Come in,” Astoria calls softly, then coughs.

Draco watches her intensely, handing her his handkerchief that he takes when she's finished, ignoring the spots of blood upon it as red as her mouth. Scorpius dashes to her other side and takes hold of her fingers unclaimed by him, and he watches their growing child glance over her once and turn to him with an unspoken plea.

He wishes he could help, and he's told her so, told Scorpius so many times.

She passes later that evening before dinner while Scorpius has gone to get her tea later than usual upon her request. He knows as he sits upon the bed with her and holds her to him that she's wishing to spare the boy seeing it happen, and he holds her as she softly tells him she loves him once, him telling her the same, until she breathes out and doesn't breathe again.  
  
  
  


 


	12. b l a c k

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

12.

 

b l a c k

 

 

She's buried in her most beloved dress with her lips painted forever red.

He stands alone at her grave after the rest have long gone, after Pansy has hugged him and even Zabini and Goyle have come to pay respects. He stands alone after he's sent Scorpius home with His Friend Albus to try to eat something and get through the evening, too. He stands alone well aware that others are coming and going, Astoria's family's voices barely breaking through the bubble around his head.

He stands alone lost in thought, knowing Astoria has left a note to him over a box of letters with handwriting that isn't hers. Stands there knowing that he'd spent the days preparing for her burial circling that fucking box around his desk, terrified and needing to open it until he peeked enough that morning at part of a scrawled, nervous response—a brief paragraph concerning her health, of worry for her and worry for _him_ , and acknowledgment Draco wasn't prepared to read. And so Draco had stopped reading right there, refusing to see acceptance or regret, preferring the familiar limbo of neither.

Yet he stands alone knowing he isn't at all, having felt those fucking green eyes on him from the cemetery gate for what seems like hours on end. Draco tries to ignore them, staring and seeing nothing but that grave, but there's a warm aura suddenly next to his and a body refusing to go away when his face tightens with quiet rage.

And with Him so close, Draco feels like he can't breathe.

Because he stands next to Potter with the new knowledge since his peek at that letter that Harry has thought of _him_ for years—that Potter _never_ forgot because Potter _couldn't_ let it go, either.

After all this time...after a _something_ and then years of _nothing_ and recent months of speculative _whatever_ , after alleys and letters and chocolates with rum, there is _this_.

A gaze right into the great unknown that is fully gazing back.

Potter shifts his weight and comes slightly closer.

Draco pretends he doesn't feel the warm hand sliding over his wrist as Potter whispers, “Draco, I...I'm _truly_ sorry for your loss.”

His loss. His _loss_. The fucking _nerve_.

And Draco, entirely fed up with Potter over empty once-upon-a-times, over the letters he can't bring himself to finish, over _not_ being forgotten but left behind anyway, emotionally bursts with her buried beneath his feet.

He pulls his hand forcefully from the one holding his wrist. He shakes uncontrollably.

And he sounds dark and disdainful as he snaps in the empty cemetery with all his great fucking confusion of Fate, “You _should_ be.”

Potter blinks next to him, stunned into silence for once and staring at him in shock. In pain. In hope and _wait, just wait_.

Draco exhales, spins on his heel in the dirt, and walks far away, leaving _Potter_ to stand alone.

“Draco!” Potter shouts, voice oddly shaken instead of angry or contrary. “Draco, I....”

His pace doesn't stop until he hits the gate to Disapparate, and then he is home and needing silence, storming past two Slytherin boys sitting quietly together by the fire, watching him and saying nothing of the tears on his face. But even in his upset, even in his lowest yet, Draco takes two seconds to glance behind him and sees Albus Potter holding his son with green eyes just as fiercely protective and loving and broken as his father's left there in the cemetery, all alone.  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light emotions and laughs are coming as Fate plays her cards. There's just adjustments to be had in the meanwhile.


	13. m i n t

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

13.

 

m i n t

 

 

The box is moved to a drawer, best left forgotten as he gets little sleep for the next two days.

All he can think of is Astoria and the silence, her red lips and Potter's hands over his back, and he dreams of a warm mouth to his brow and soft black hair gripped in his fingers as he screams and begs not to be let go.

Scorpius slips into his bedroom the first evening, and Draco merely extends his arm, letting the boy rest to his side and sit for awhile. His son asks him, gently, if His Friend Albus can stay. He doesn't want to be alone, he says. And Draco agrees just as gently, letting Scorpius run back to his room with a hug of gratitude.

He says nothing of Potter's child sitting where his wife once did at breakfast the next morning, and he sips tea instead of coffee, not needing anything more to keep him awake.

And Albus Potter goes home, but returns a few times over the next days, using the Floo to see Scorpius in the afternoons.

Draco stares off, lost in thoughts of emptiness later that week, when he hears his office door creak open gently. Grey eyes glance up, violet underneath from the lack of rest, and a single brow arches in curiosity.

It isn't his son standing there. He'd expected Scorpius to come asking to go to Diagon Alley again just to get out of the house that was still heavy with melancholy in the end of the otherwise nice summer.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Albus Potter says, swallowing a bit nervously.

Draco looks the growing kid over, sees the dark hair and green eyes that are so _damn_ hauntingly familiar to him, and nods. “Yes?”

“I just, um, wanted...to thank you.”

“For?” Draco asks, mildly confused.

Albus glances away, slightly sheepish. “For letting me come to the...the funeral. And keep visiting Scorpius.”

He leans back in his chair, one knee over the other and hands folded together upon one of the arm rests. Draco sees the desire for his approval, the curiosity, the things so _different_ from Potter. But he also sees the same hesitance, the same hidden vulnerability, and that quiet determination in the inherited eyes. Traits, he thinks, Albus might not even know about yet.

Draco smiles softly. Just a fraction of one.

And Albus relaxes visibly, smiles as well, and goes to leave. He pauses enough for Draco to stop his adjustment to staring off at the wall.

“Yes?” he prompts again.

“Dad...asked if you were all right.”

Draco tries, _tries_ , not to let his face show the immediate annoyance he feels, and he looks away to the locked drawer by his ankle. He thinks a moment, then sighs. “Nosy, isn't he.”

Albus surprises him with a laugh. “Yeah, honestly. A bit.”

“More than a bit, Albus, you don't have to be mannered for his sake here. Trust me, I _know_.”

“Should I tell him you're okay?” Potter's son asks, patiently waiting.

Draco's face falls, and the lightness he'd felt for a moment vanishes. “Tell him that it isn't his concern.”

Albus's brows rise as his eyes widen, but he exits all the same with an understanding nod.

He knows he's a bit of an enigma to Albus himself, that Scorpius's dear friend has always been curious about why their two fathers don't ever talk and that they've both heard random tales of his own Hogwarts' history likely retold incorrectly at times to favor Potter somehow.

Nonetheless, when Albus leaves and Scorpius sits with him to dinner, chatting absently to fill the void Astoria has left, his son says something he doesn't expect.

“Albus is worried about his dad,” Scorpius mumbles tiredly.

Draco snorts, then forces back the immediate retort to reply instead with, “Hm.”

His son pokes about his peas on his plate with a shrug. “Thought you'd want to know.”

“Why?”

“Because you once said you didn't hate him, and Albus keeps saying his dad won't shut up about you anymore.”

Draco drops his knife and nearly cuts his finger. With a stifled swear, he picks it back up, not acknowledging the startled look in his son's eyes. “Ridiculous,” he scowls. “What for?”

“I don't know. He says it's little things—like his father keeps asking if you're doing well or if you talk about him, if you've asked after him, too. He says it's almost as if his dad's waiting for you to say something specific, but Albus isn't sure what.”

Three and a half letters left unread, and though he wonders, Draco is stubborn.

He's had _plenty of years_ to become that fucking stubborn, too.

His brows furrow. His eyes roll. And he carves his steak all the angrier, muttering as if to convince _himself_ more than anything else, “More than a decade fucking late to matter.”

Scorpius watches him and drinks from his glass, saying nothing but clearly puzzled.

That night he finally passes out from exhaustion, and, unfortunately, he dreams again—of a dangling roll of string with Potter whispering soft unheard words in his ear.  
  
  
  
  
  


 


	14. d a r k _ s k y _ b l u e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

14.

 

 

d a r k   s k y   b l u e

 

 

The last bit of summer passes as if on a moody breeze.

They speak of her occasionally, of missing her scent or her voice or warm smile, and the door to her room remains partially open, never to be shut and locked and forgotten about. Her bed is always made the way she liked, her clothes are still hung up, and her belongings are dusted and cared for by the two of them.

What time Draco doesn't spend with Scorpius is spent between his son and Albus Potter, and he grows more and more familiar with the other boy's singular presence in his home. He smiles to himself in his study when he hears the pair of them laughing over nonsense or playfully arguing over quidditch players at school, and Draco falls into the false relaxation afforded by his son's continued presence after Astoria's death.

Time moves, as it must despite that still locked drawer that haunts his dreams, the box itself calling his name enough to have him moodily drinking more tea at night in spite.

And then the Hogwarts term begins again.

The boys part, planning to find one another on the train. Draco hears Scorpius murmur something about hope and that things will be all right when he hugs his friend goodbye for the time being. The question, of course, teases his brain, and his lips move to ask his son what's going on, but he stays silent. Because if it's important enough, Scorpius will ask for his advice, too.

He forgets about it, though, and Draco wakes the night before Scorpius leaves to his bedroom door creaking itself open, to his son shushing it as if it were a pet giving him away. He stays perfectly still, eyes closed, and keeps his breathing regular, curious as to what his child is doing and humored in the sweetness of Scorpius trying to be as quiet as possible.

And then there's a shift on the bed, and Scorpius's weight is against his back.

He feels the shudder through his son's body into his own. Hears the sniffle. Feels his heart break even more, another crack and another shatter in the crystal.

Grey eyes open as he rolls over and enfolds Scorpius against his chest, arm heavily draping over the rapidly growing boy who has not exhibited this behavior in several years. Draco almost misses the nights he'd wake to Scorpius's little patter of feet before feeling the boy climb into his bed and mumble about nightmares, begging him to make the bad dreams go away like usual.

Scorpius doesn't speak now, doesn't ask that question, but he trembles and holds onto Draco's arm as if he fears Draco vanishing instead of the dreams.

Lips press to the pale hair in front of his face, and he swallows tightly, feeling the ball of pain manifesting in his throat and bobbing with its movement, refusing to either settle in his gut and roll or scream out of him into the night.

The father only dares to sleep after the son has stopped his shivering, and Draco wakes a second time after the dawn's low light has begun to infiltrate his curtains, this time to Scorpius curled into him, face buried to his chest.

No matter how much older the boy has grown, no matter how brave he may have tried to be knowing his mother was sick for a while, no matter his schooling and his new friend, he is _still_ so young, and in Draco's heart he almost feels immortally so.

He's beautiful in his fatherly view of timelessness.

“I'm scared,” Scorpius murmurs against his shirt. “I'm scared if I go back...that...that....”

“I'll get through it,” Draco assures him. “And you will, too. Your friend...will be there for you, won't he?”

“He will.” Scorpius nods. “And Rose.”

Draco considers that silently. He knows what his son has endured because of him. He's read what Potter's son being Sorted into Slytherin has endured for his father, too. And some part of him wonders if Granger's daughter feels terrified to live up to her mother's brilliance and father's working, enduring reputation as well.

“Father?” his son whispers and tilts his head to glance up at him.

Draco brushes some platinum fringe from his son's eyes. “Hm?”

“Do you remember...when I was really little? When we still lived...there.”

The Manor.

Yes, he remembers.

He remembers his parents, his seclusion and arguments. Astoria's strength and bravery. His mother's attempts to shield him while fighting her own prejudices, and his father's demanding desire to be king in disgrace after he'd bargained his way out of a heavy sentence by selling out many others.

He remembers his son's fear, his son never knowing another child for so long, his son that he kept behind him always, never letting Lucius Malfoy too close. His son that he picked up in the middle of the night, curled to his chest, and Disapparated with Astoria to the home he'd secretly purchased with his grandfather's inheritance—an inheritance he'd had a lawyer fight Gringotts for silently, wresting it from Lucius without warning.

He remembers letters from Narcissa terrified for them and her grandson that detailed the fury of his father. Replies he sent telling her to never contact again, if she couldn't separate herself as well.

Oh, yes. He remembers.

“What of it?” he inquires, uncomfortable.

“It was so empty, wasn't it. All that...stuff and no one else. When we came here, we didn't have as much stuff for a while, but it didn't feel empty. Mother and you and I...even though we didn't seem like other families I've seen, it felt...better,” Scorpius murmurs, looking almost embarrassed. “What if it becomes empty again, Father?”

Draco's eyes wet, but he keeps the emotion tightly leashed and kisses Scorpius on the brow.

In a way the words from his son are the greatest vindication he could ever receive.

“It might be for a little while with you gone, but it won't stay that way,” he softly replies.

“But you have no one! I have two friends, and you have no one, and I won't be here.”

“That isn't true. Pansy's going to be annoying me soon, I expect. She always does. And Greg might come by,” he tries to reassure both himself and his son with those words. “And I've...I've been alone in ways you wouldn't understand. I will handle it, Scorpius. It is not your burden.”

Scorpius rests his cheek to Draco's heart, listening to its steady rhythm almost as if to know if his words are true. If his word is honorable in this.

Draco hopes his son knows it is. That Draco has never tried to lie to him, no matter his own private life omissions.

And Scorpius quietly murmurs, warming his aching Slytherin heart, “I want you to have a friend, Father, like me. I want to know someone will be here, watching over you, too, when I'm gone.”

Lying there, holding his grieving, worrying still-so-young son, he thinks of Potter's smile and Potter's voice calling his name in the cemetery, of Potter's letters in a box locked in a drawer and Potter's protective determination passing to Albus himself...and Draco kisses his son's brow, telling him not to worry.

Because it's _very_ likely that someone will be watching over him as he son wishes, whether he likes it or not.

  
  
  


 


	15. c i n e r e o u s

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

 

15.

 

 

c i n e r e o u s

 

 

So he isn't perfect at first.

So he struggles a bit.

So he doesn't sleep much, drinks way more tea than is probably healthy along with some other, much heavier emotional liquids, and barely eats because he's lost his appetite between the days that Pansy arrives with food from their usual lunch spot and practically forces it down his throat.

So what if he is _grieving_ the loss of someone who knew everything about him, and he doesn't know what else to do in his life _but_ grieve it?

He still keeps himself clean, keeps the house clean on the days the maid isn't by. He reads books he'd never gotten around to reading before, and he even sits out in the garden sometimes, just staring at the hues of the pinks and the blues, and the purples and the teasing oranges of sunsets and dawns.

It may not be what most would want for him, but he knows that all he has done for several years is simply experience the passing of life. This, then, is nothing new. And he's unsure of how to change that, or if he'll ever be ready to change that, despite wanting to do so.

All he's known are walls. And all he's known are shades of ever blending grey.

So he hasn't opened that box, even if he sees it in his dreams waiting.

So he decides Fate can fuck off with her strings and once-upon-a-things. He wants to see how _she_ likes it for once. But Fate moves at her own pace and within her own dimension, and She has made decisions that he is kept entirely bereft of in their happenings, unknowing of their grand effects coming his way.

Thus when he hears the rap at his front door a few weeks after Astoria's funeral, he can only assume it's Goyle or Zabini, as Pansy always prefers to Floo in with a loud, cheery scream of his name to grate his ears.

Draco opens the door, exhausted emotionally and completely unprepared for the person on the other side of its heavy dark wood. His mouth parts in shock, his grey eyes widen almost painfully until they're drying themselves out, and he stares at a flustered, weight shifting from foot-to-foot Harry Potter in a long coat and muggle trousers.

Suddenly his shirt is too warm and his trousers feel almost tight, and that is _terrifying_.

“Hi,” Potter softly says, smiling a little.

He finally blinks while his heart starts beating again from its surprise, and then his hand is shutting the door before his mind even knows what he's doing. Potter intervenes with his shoulder, angling himself until he's squeezed between the bits of wood, and the nervousness that had been there in the green eyes seconds ago is fully replaced by fiery conviction that Draco fears aimed his way.

“Damn it, Draco, stop,” Potter chastises him.

To his self-disgust, it works. Draco stops trying to close the door upon Potter's body, and he opens it wider, watching Harry drag a few breaths.

It's hard to find his voice after not speaking to anyone for at least four days of the past week, but he does, croaking with it, “The bloody hell do you want, Potter?”

“Came to see you,” Potter says easily. Shyly, if only the slightest bit.

Draco stares. Hears his son's words bounce about his head.

Potter shrugs when Draco doesn't respond. “Will you let me in, please?”

His nerves make him twitch with uncertain suspicion. With _aware_ trembles that Potter has never been so _close_ , so near his personal space that so few else ever have.

“You're going to stand out here if I don't, aren't you?” Draco murmurs, almost wanting to smirk.

At first Potter doesn't say anything. But he doesn't have to. It's there in his open expression and his concerned eyes as they roam Draco's face with more scrutiny that angers him.

Then Harry sighs to himself. “Yep. You don't look well. When's the last time you've slept? Ate?”

“None of your business,” he grunts automatically.

Harry exhales, not deterred in the least. “You look thin. And I...I made a promise. So open up and let me help.”

He doesn't have to read the rest of those letters to guess Astoria had triggered Potter's sense of honor somehow.

While he stands there, wondering why she would do this, if she would think it would _really_ help at all instead of simply _torture_ him, Potter takes advantage of his zoned out state and opens the door, slightly pushes him back, and shuts it behind them both.

“I don't care what you promised anyone,” Draco finally retorts, tightly swallowing with even tighter eyes. “I don't want you here.”

Harry stares him down intently, as if trying to answer a question in his cluttered Gryffindor brain, and he glances away, thankfully missing the bit of shake that grips Draco.

Because Potter is _here_ in his home and _here_ in his mind's fantasy that begs itself to reveal.

Potter breathes the same air, and somehow he doesn't look out of place.

“Well, I'd hoped we'd be able to talk, considering everything, but it seems no matter what you know now, you're still going to hate me. Fine,” Potter grunts and looks about. “I'll at least make you something so I know you've eaten.”

“Know?” Draco scoffs, arms crossing as he tries to find _some_ barrier between them. “I know nothing about whatever you and Astoria felt the need to do behind my back, and I don't _want_ to know.”

Potter pauses in his next words, eyes rounding behind newer black frames that make Draco grit his teeth for looking so ridiculously sexy on Harry. “You...didn't read the letters.”

Draco sneers at him with resentment, flaring at just _thinking_ of those words, of how he'd never been _forgotten_. “No. Just...the top of the first one, and that told me _enough_ , you bastard.”

He's honestly not sure what he expects Potter to say back to that, but the sudden bit of frustration mixed with strange relief entirely confuses him.

Even more bizarre, Harry smiles a little. “So there's still a chance, then. Good. Read them.”

“Think I'll burn them,” Draco counters with his classic sneer.

A dark brow arches at him, but again, Potter surprises him with a soft chuckle. Harry runs a hand through his dark hair, murmuring, “Should have figured you'd say that. But let's drop it for now. Where's the kitchen? Through here?”

“Potter,” Draco hisses as Harry starts to wander. “Potter!”

“Your home's as she described it—it feels like _you_. Tasteful and elegant, proud yet still so...reserved. Comfortable only to those it welcomes. I like it.”

“ _Potter_ ,” Draco snaps, ready to tear his hair out and now wondering if this is a fucking nightmare of a teasing dream.

Harry waits in the living room and looks back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

But his vision seems to go fuzzy for a moment, and Draco suddenly feels weightless, as if his head might part and float from his body. He barely feels the strong arms catch him seconds later, hardly hears the tutting mutters of an angry Gryffindor furious at him for not eating enough, and then Draco slowly comes back out of the near faint when he feels his legs leave the floor.

“What the fuck?” Draco spits when he finds himself sideways in Potter's arms, when he notes the fingers gripping under his back and knees. His arms grab instinctively for Potter's neck when he looks down to the floor.

“You're faint, you idiot. You clearly can't walk if you can't even _stand_ properly, so just hang on and let me get you to the sofa.”

“Potter, put me _down_ , you nosy prick! I wouldn't _feel_ like shit if you'd just _go_.”

“Just hang on,” Harry murmurs, and Draco focuses on the handsome jaw close to his face, entirely in shock as Potter takes steps and literally carries him into the living room.

Draco's heart races as Harry pauses in front of the long white sofa, and Draco clutches unintentionally about his neck. “Put me on my feet.”

“No.”

“Then drop me. Let _go_.”

Harry grins at him, and Draco glares.

“Fine, fine,” Harry snickers and bends slightly to tumble him onto the sofa, pushing him to stay lying down with his head on one of the soft pillows.

Potter grabs for the thin folded blanket he's been using on his favorite chair and tosses it over him, covering him up before he can say another word.

And Draco takes the silent seconds to stare at him earnestly: to stare at green eyes warm with the sunlight through the windows, strong hands and arms tucking the blanket around his long legs, and a smile that doesn't leave Potter's lips—as if doing this, as if being _here_ , is making him ridiculously happy for some odd reason.

“Am I the one that died?” Draco asks, quite deadpanned, hoping to hell he's dreaming.

“Okay, so you're either really dehydrated, too, or entirely out of it from lack of sleep. Good to know,” Potter sighs, brow arching at him, while he stays resting upon his knees on the floor.

Draco swallows softly. “Potter, this is all baffling.”

“Read the letters, then. Now, I'm going to go dig through your kitchen and see what I can come up with for you. Get some rest.”

“But—”

“Shh. Rest.”

A warm palm brushes over his brow and hair, and then Harry's gone, trotting through Draco's house while Draco can only stare from the sofa after him in shock.

For several minutes he listens to cupboards opening and pots tinkering, and slowly but surely his grey eyes begin to close as he wonders if he's entirely lost his mind lying there still, comforted by the noise. He falls asleep with the smallest of smiles curving his lip, never knowing it was ever there.

  


 


	16. f i r e _ o p a l

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

16.

 

f i r e   o p a l

 

 

He naps for a while, how long he's not entirely sure, but there's a soft touch of a thumb to his brow stroking the skin, and a whisper that dinner's ready, if he's able to eat.

Draco sits up, head pounding.

Green eyes take him in worriedly, and Potter comes closer.

Draco's breath catches as lips softly press to his brow for several seconds, and then he hears Harry sigh. “Not feverish. Good. C'mon, I've made you something.”

And Draco stares at Harry in puzzled awe, takes the hand in front of his face, and says nothing as Potter leads him like a child to the dining room.

“You didn't have much in the cupboards. Need to get some supplies. I can do it, if you'd like...if just being around people is still too awkward or raw,” Potter volunteers as they both take seats at the table.

Draco is speechless as Harry eyes him from Astoria's chair with a soft smile and a spoon of soup held to his lips, as if it's the most routine, natural thing in the world.

Slowly his gaze drifts down to the warm, wonderful smelling soup in front of him, and he grabs for his own spoon, eating quietly.

He's worried that if he breathes too hard, that if he blinks too much, that if he _looks_ at Harry that Potter will be gone. That it will all be simply hallucination. Imagination.

“Taste all right? I usually make it for the kids when they're sick.”

Draco swallows the broth, tasting the mixture of vegetables and hints of chicken, and just nods.

The pair eat in silence, but each catches the other glancing and each looks away. Draco almost feels like he's stuck in one of his father's old socialite dinners and wondering when he can slink out.

“What was it you read that made you stop?” Potter suddenly asks, breaking that thin line of strangely companionable, yet tense silence.

Draco glares over his spoon at the irony of _that_ being forgotten. But Potter must have written enough that every detail isn't instantly recalled.

“Why did you write them?” Draco counters, looking away.

Harry drinks down some water from his glass and says, “At first I did because she wrote me well after she and I talked the one day in Diagon Alley...and then I kept writing because...well.”

“What one day?” Draco demands, sitting straight and startling Potter with the chair's screech. “Just _when_ did you see my _wife_ , Potter?”

Potter blows out his breath. “A long while ago.”

“When? Why?”

“Before the children first left for Hogwarts last term, and it wasn't an intentional meeting, not at first. She...happened to pass by and hear an argument, and she waited until I was alone to speak with me. Asked if I was all right, if things were, if I even knew who she was. We had coffee and just...talked,” Potter explains, hands gesturing freely and openly to indicate no offense. “She'd been shopping. Got some potion, I think, for you to sleep?”

Draco closes his eyes.

So much he didn't know. So much _why_ to know, too.

“Now will you answer _me_ , Draco?” Harry asks, voice gentle.

Draco pushes his bowl away, worried he might throw it in his anxious anger. His elbows rest to the table, his brow falls into his open palms, and he chokes out, voice growing louder with each successive question until he is _shouting_ , “Why are you doing this? What do you _want_ from me, Potter? Why the fuck are you _here_ , and why aren't you home with _her_?”

His voice echoes for a quiet moment, and he doesn't dare look. He's already said too much.

The silence makes his stomach roll.

“I'm here,” Harry eventually begins with a hint of anxiety in his tone, “because I _want_ to be. I want to talk, I want to sort things out. I want to spend _time_ with you, Draco. The rest is complicated and hopefully getting simpler.”

Draco seethes against his now balled fists to his eyes, the scowl deep and digging against Astoria's teasing warning in his head about wrinkles even in his late thirties. “I'm not your toy to play with, Potter. And you didn't promise _me_ anything, _ever_. Thank you for dinner, and now you can _go_.”

Potter abruptly rises, cursing under his breath and moves through the kitchen doorway with his dishes. Draco can barely make out any of what is streaming from the frustrated Chosen One until Potter stomps back out, stands in that doorway and states as he makes himself calmer, “I knew there would be walls. I knew it, and she knew it, and she _warned me_ you'd fight me every step. But it's worth it. I _know_ it will be.”

Draco moves before he even feels it happen. The forceful shove is instinctive.

Harry flies back into the wall, smacking his head roughly.

Potter gasps. Draco stares, unblinking.

Harry takes a breath. Stands upright. Exhales. “You're clearly angry with me.”

Draco swallows harshly, feeling his throat turn raw. “Of course I am, you fucking idiot. I've been angry for years. I've been _furious_ since the moment I read that you'd never forgotten me or what...happened...that day. I supposed I'd _hoped_ you had, and that your silence was selfish Gryffindor ignorance all these years that I had _accepted_.”

“Draco....” The look on Harry's face is sad, so desperately and confusingly sad, but understanding. He sighs and rubs the side of his cheek. “I didn't. I couldn't. I tried at one point, but it wasn't easy. You've been _such_ a part of my life, and I hadn't known _how_ big your part was until you weren't in it anymore.”

“I don't want to know anything else,” Draco replies, sounding like _he's_ the one in a fucking grave in the ground.

“I...if you're serious, then fine. I'll respect that. But if you're just brushing me off because you're angry at me and _still_ want to know, since you didn't read very far....”

Draco collapses back into his chair at the table. He can just imagine the string between them, can see Fate taking Astoria's face behind Harry's shoulder smiling at him with her red lips. Beckoning. Soothing him. Assuring.

And he gives the fuck up, too tired to go on. “Tell me why you're here. Tell me the _truth_ , and I'll _consider_ reading those damn letters.”

Harry looks relieved and moves forward, this time sitting in Scorpius's seat as it's closest. Green eyes blink rapidly, and Harry flushes and shyly looks away. “Um. Well.”

His brow arcs. “Potter, I've had speculation enough for a fucking lifetime with you already. Talk or get out.”

“Look, I want...I want your friendship.”

Draco snorts. “My friendship.”

“Yeah. As...a start,” Harry murmurs, cheeks rosy. “I understand things needing time with her death and my own life sorting itself, but I want....”

For a moment he's happy. For a moment he _forgets_ the world and what his name is and just wants to bask in what is _unsaid_.

But then he remembers himself, and he cannot be happy anymore.

“No,” Draco scowls, changing that flush on Potter's face to paleness. The anger roars through him and he snarls, _refusing_ , “I _will not_ be your afterthought, your what-if, and I will not do so with your _wife_ no doubt wondering where you are. You made your choice long ago, Potter. Accept it...as I have.”

Potter sighs, getting up again, but this time he's striding out of the room. Draco follows him, shocked, as Harry grabs his coat hanging nearby and yanks open Draco's front door.

Harry looks back over his shoulder once, frustrated, and says, “I made a choice then, yeah. And I made another recently.”

“The hell does that mean?” Draco dares to ask, heart racing once more.

“It means, Draco, that things are _changing_. It's in those letters, and it's all I've been dealing with for over a year now.”

“ _What_?” Draco demands, eyes bulging from their sockets. “Potter, why? What have you done? Have you gone fucking mental?”

Potter sighs, eyes roaming him a moment. “A decision was made for _many_ reasons, Draco, some that aren't even _mine_. Read the letters if you wish, or owl me when you're ready to talk—when you _want_ to hear it all.”

Draco takes one final step closer, nearly toe-to-toe with Harry halfway through the door. He has to fight it. He can't let it win, not after all this time no matter the _possibilities_ he didn't know were opening up because it just feels wrong somehow. It has to be wrong, doesn't it?

“No,” he grunts, trying to stay firm. Trying to do what might be _right_ for once, and Scorpius's well being rests squarely in the back of his mind.

Harry smiles, entirely reassured somehow by his refusal. “Whatever you say, Draco. That's your choice.”

“I won't, _Potter_ ,” he warns again, feeling his stomach flutter for that smile. “Fix your life _back_ the way it should be and leave me alone.”

“I can't, I won't, and neither will she.” He watches some strange acceptance settle more in Potter's gaze. “Be sure to eat. I can always Floo you in some dinner.”

The scoff is caught in his throat while Harry steps forward, winks, and kisses his cheek, shutting the door before Draco can even gasp.

 

  
  


 


	17. w i l d _ b l u e _ y o n d e r

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

17.

 

w i l d   b l u e   y o n d e r

 

 

The polished, burned dark cedar box sits upon his desk reflecting firelight off of its gold floral inlay and plated, singing birds. Yet for all the beauty to it, for all the soft femininity of it and its past owner, it might as well be a small coffin there, dark and black and terrifying as it creaks open with a nudge of his fingers.

Draco lasts all of three days before this moment of weakness.

He does everything possible to ignore the questions Potter has wormed into his brain, and he readily makes sure to keep the door _locked_ , too. Even considers ways to toy with Potter, like sending the idiot some blank parchments by owl with a smile.

But at four in the morning with his eyes staring at the canopy of his bed, with his hand upon the empty, cold space next to him that he fleetingly imagines warmed by a competitive, green-eyed bastard, Draco submits.

When he enters the study, he can almost _feel_ her beside him to the point he even looks about, her name upon his lips left unspoken but deeply thought. Draco shakes as he sits down into his chair, leaning over the desk and breathing out tensely when the box's lid is completely opened.

He has to know now. He has to know what would make Potter change his own life however he has, and he has to know it _isn't_ going to be blamed upon _himself_.

He has to know that he isn't the only one strung up by Fate.

If he closes his eyes hard enough, he feels the pull of something greater than him, the pull he has felt for _years_ , like the call of the sea to the grounded sailor or the breath of the wind to the broken owl. And he wonders how that pull feels so _warm_ and so wholesome, so pure when it can't be. Shouldn't be. When all it rightfully must be is surely destructive selfishness.

His eyes are closed when he pulls the first letter out and unfolds it.

Draco takes what he hopes is a deep, centering breath, and then he reads—past the part of being remembered, past the part of never letting go, and into the point of regret that isn't what Draco expected. That isn't regretting _him_.

Dumbfounded, he curls into the chair without noticing, snuggling into it while his lips part, and he quietly reads the line aloud, “I thought for years how lucky you must be to know the truths he hides, the _love_ I know he has somewhere in him. I envied your marriage for always seeing what he finally showed me just _once_.”

Oh _fuck_.

Draco glances to the fire, thoughts rapidly flickering like its crackling flames upon the logs. He's shocked, he's moved, he's frozen still in time.

With another deep breath, he dives back into the words, and over an hour later he has moved from his chair to the rug before the fireplace, propped upon throw pillows. The letters are scattered around him with their pages, the very last still gripped in his hand as one finger traces the writing with something akin to reverent hope. His cheeks are wet, his eyes red and drying, and the shocked smile _cannot_ leave his mouth.

Not only was he remembered, but he was _cared about_ for years.

Not only was he never forgotten, but he was silently desired.

And not only had Potter resigned to life the same way Draco had, but that singular day of meeting while the boys' robes were being fitted had changed something for Harry, too. That seeing Draco again in the flesh after so long, that seeing Scorpius there as _proof_ of Draco's existence and life had unlocked Harry's own box he'd been keeping stuffed in some drawer in his mind, a box full of memories instead of letters and kisses instead of words.  
  
Potter wishes time at Hogwarts had been spent getting to know one another better. He says in scrawled, uneven penmanship that he'd wondered why some part of him always did think of Draco, good or bad, and couldn't shake the Slytherin from his thoughts. He asks Astoria if it was obvious the day they met before she asked him the truth. He wants to know if Draco speaks about him at all, if there's even a chance of reconciliation on any level.

Potter doesn't regret his life, he writes, but he knows change has come to it both on his end and on that of his wife's, too. And he consistently thanks Astoria for listening, for being the one person who understands and doesn't judge even when she has the most right to do so—for being the one person he's even _told_ , keeping it all quiet from the Weasley adults still until he and Ginny can find the right words to say so that none are angry when they should be as accepting as _they_ are. That though they've not told the children yet, they know the kids feel something is happening and he fears their anger directed at him, wondering in the ink, _How do I make them understand one day that I didn't want to hurt them, but show them that living honestly is better than living a life half lived? That doing what is best doesn't always mean following that definition according to other people?_

And Potter worries so much for Astoria now that he knows some of her kindness and illness, worries terribly for Draco and can't stop talking of it, assuring her and _promising_ that no matter how hard Draco might shove him away for all kinds of reasons warranted or not, that he will _try_. That he will be sure Draco is watched over, cared for, and still loved, even if it is done in silence familiar to both Potter and Draco over these years.

Potter thanks Astoria for not hating him. He says he's _glad_ Draco has had her in his life. And he wishes there was more time, but tells her not to be afraid. That when the moment comes, it will be her choice to let go, and that it's peaceful. That he knows so personally, saying how he died once in the woods and that he made the choice to come back.

His last words are grateful and acknowledging her own encouragement, and he signs off:  _I can't imagine what you will feel making the choice to leave them. Just...know that you won't ever be forgotten, Astoria—not by Draco or Scorpius, and not by me. Yours sincerely, Harry._

Draco shudders, fearful of what the hell is going on because it all makes sense now: The little looks Potter's sent him over the year when they've passed, the touch upon his back in the shop, the holding of his wrist in the alley and the funeral, and Scorpius's reassurance to His Friend Albus that something would be okay somehow. Astoria's own last words to him, telling him to move _forward_ and not sit, stuck forever. To have trust and hope.

He writes his own letter with just three words, just the acknowledgment that he's read them, and his gorgeous barn owl flies near the first tease of dawn.

He hears the Floo activate not a half an hour later, minutes after the bird returns. Hears the footsteps echo as they search about quietly for him and then pause at his open study door.

Draco's back is to it, but he feels those eyes upon him. They've always been so _powerful_ , so imbued with strength and haunting emotion no matter their anger or righteousness, sadness or shame.

He swallows, feeling like he can't breathe, and the question slips from him between the creaking of wood floor beams and the hunger of fire. “You're getting a divorce?”

“Yes,” Potter whispers behind him.

“Does she know?” he wonders, imagining the hatred Potter's wife must have of him _still_ over the years.

“Yes,” Potter whispers again.

Draco huffs and drops the page he'd been clutching and palms his face, looking to Harry from the side. His _gut_ tells him that day with the train that Ginny Weasley—Ginny _Potter—_ didn't entirely know. “When did you tell her?”

Harry's shoulders sag a little. “Your wife heard the argument about it, actually. We'd been having some other issues for a _while_ , and it all just...came out when Ginny and I talked after lunch.”

Draco lays a hand upon the rug, ignoring the soft ticking of clock above. “I'm surprised she didn't hex you.”

Potter snorts in agreement.

He has so many questions, and yet a single one asks them all.

“Why?” the word leaves his dry lips. “Why, Potter? Are you _mad_? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

There's some movement and then a body settles near him on the floor. Draco doesn't turn to look. He doesn't have to do so; the sheer energy of Harry's aura is already bleeding over him with inclusion and gentle power. Magic excites the atmosphere as much as long suppressed need does.

At Potter's obvious agitated silence, he mutters, “You said there were reasons for this.”

Harry stretches his legs next to his own. “Yeah, reasons from both of us. None of it has been easy. There's been anger and crying. Broken things. But it's getting better. Much more amicable now with time to think about things. We were always friends before we were anything else, and I don't want to lose that.”

“So get help, go back to your perfect Hero life, and this time _forget_ me,” Draco snaps in turn, clenching his fists. “I didn't ask you to upend your fucking life, Potter. That's you doing it.”

“Look, before you even _go_ there, I'm not leaving Ginny for you or the idea of you or anyone else,” Harry replies, firm again. “Ginny and I have had issues for _years_. We barely see one another unless it's for possibly dinner, we've parented the kids separately with our schedules to the point they're _used_ to it, and I am not doing it anymore. I know she's not happy. I know she's not been happy. I know I've not been happy, and I know I've kept part of myself from her for years, and she finally wanted to know why.”

“Merlin, Potter, just take a different shift if it's that simple,” Draco growls, uncomfortable and uncertain and refusing the mantle of guilt.

Harry shakes his head. “I have. Several, yanking Ron around as my partner at work when he has his _own_ shift times he needs for his _own_ kids. Ginny can't help her schedule with the team, and I would _never_ ask her to give it up. The kids love seeing her play, they adore the fact that she does. But they've gotten so _used_ to seeing us like this, Draco, that it breaks me. Only James remembers what it used to be like when he was younger—when we were always around, eating dinner together every night instead of a few times a week between my shifts, emergencies, and her Apparating home from practices. It's just...it's not the same. Falling out of romantic love with it isn't the same as bearing it and being in love together.”

Draco doesn't say anything because he doesn't know _what_ to say. He doesn't know how to feel. He just wants things to stay acceptably normal regardless of how hellish they were for him personally because this massive change _frightens_ him with how much he still _yearns_ despite it all.

The future is so suddenly open, as if someone yanked a blanket from his face and let him see the world around him. But the vision of that bared, bright world is blinding, and the urge to run from it, to throw the blanket back over him, to go back into the comfortable dark is strong.

Draco sits up a bit straighter and looks Harry right in the eye. “So stop it. Stop being a selfish fuck, make her stop being stupid, and fix it.”

“It can't _be_ fixed, Draco, not like that. Not when it's awkward and the love isn't the same anymore,” Harry replies brokenly. “And honestly...neither of us feels we could even _try_ now. When I told her the truth about our kiss that day, about how I never got you out of my head and really hadn't even _before_ that day, it was like it all snapped together. Ginny was.... She was  _relieved_ despite being hurt and angry. It wasn't something _she_ did wrong, something she was lacking. And when she asked me why I hadn't spoken up years ago, wishing I had because we've always been _friends_ , I told her that truth, too—that I was honestly afraid to, that I wasn't sure what I even wanted from you or you me, and that I didn't want to lose her family or my friends, either. That I _do not_ regret my marriage because it had its love and its happiness, and I _do not_ regret having my family, ever.”

“Of course not,” Draco murmurs. He doesn't know all of what Astoria has told Potter of his _own_ marriage, but he can at the very least agree that _he_ doesn't have regrets knowing Astoria or having his son, either. He sighs, even so, thinking of those four kids hanging from smaller pieces of their thread of Fate. “You have _children_ , Potter. This will _hurt_ them.”

“You think I don't know that? You think I haven't thought about how much they might _hate_ me as their father?” Harry snaps, shouting in the quiet space. “Even so, Draco, all my kids _do_ know is that their parents have barely been home together for years. We've had different schedules for so long that it's _ridiculous_ , and though we've always been supportive of each other in our careers as such, our marriage paid that price. Our _kids_ paid that price, and we all will because it can't keep going on.”

Harry inhales, fighting against the emotional wave as he continues, “I've never wanted to hurt anyone, yet it feels sometimes like it's all I do. I know I hurt you never writing or contacting after what happened, and I know I hurt Ginny in my fear and decision to stay with her and love her through it. I'm _terrified_ of hurting my children, but what else can I do? Teach them that you must live a lie, else you live alone? Teach them to suppress every question they have? I don't know what's worse, sometimes, and I told Ginny so.”

“What did she say?” he asks, feeling so strangely out of place now. Like this isn't his home and his study, and he's merely been plopped into Harry's life without expectation elsewhere.

“She said that they've already been hurt by the distance between us, and she thinks that them not understanding it has made it worse. So...she said she wanted the divorce, for the both of us to _breathe_ again. She still loves me, and part of me still loves her, but we've just grown apart and we know it. We're _adult_ enough to own up to it now, and we can both see that doing so _doesn't_ make us horrible people. Just possibly horrible parents.”

Draco sighs this time and bumps his foot to Harry's leg nearby harshly. “Stop it. Albus _adores_ you. It's so _obvious_. And what I saw of your daughter—she clearly does, too. I highly doubt your eldest is any different.”

Harry looks up at him for the first time in several minutes. And he smiles. “Think so?”

“Yes, Potter. I do.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispers, still softly smiling. “I...needed that.”

“Potter, if I've learned anything as a parent, it is that _you_ are _their_ world as much as they are yours,” Draco says, feeling older than he is. “They may be angry or sad or rage against you, but time...does things, doesn't it.”

“Yeah, it does.”

They stare at one another, each uncertain in their own way. And Draco can't stop the bit of flutter in his heart, in his stomach, when those green eyes soften and melt just enough, when they look _happy_ for looking at _him_.

Draco stands to break the hold of those fluttery feelings and lays a hand over the wooden mantle of the fireplace, glancing down into the warm flames. “So this is a certain thing, this...divorce?”

“Yes. We'd been discussing it when Astoria wrote me, deciding how to deal with the family and the kids and all. Astoria's passing kind of paused things, because I got so worried about you,” Harry admits, fingers running through his dark hair. “I...I'm sorry. About the funeral. I wasn't sure what you knew or didn't then, but I just wanted to be there. Guess it was too much.”

Draco shakes his head. “I read that bit of your letter the day before, Potter. The timing was just...terrible.”

“Oh. Well, still, I'm sorry.”

Harry rests his head back against the front of the desk with a soft _thunk_ and chuckles to himself.

Draco looks over him, mildly concerned that Potter has cracked.

Dark, wild hair almost blends against the wood in the minimal light of the room with its drawn curtains, and green eyes gaze upon the fire before Potter draws himself together there on the floor, so beautiful and lost and also _found_.

Seeing the acceptance there in Harry is so awing that Draco stays speechless.

Harry softly sighs. “Sometimes I feel like no matter what I try to do, no matter what path I take, there's always...something else pulling me along, too.”

“I know,” he replies. Laughs once, softly and sympathetically.

He knows so well.

How does life _do this_ , how does it go so slow that he can see his child frozen at times, ageless even as he grows in hours that take days, yet it does _this_ , speeding up at its own discretion and flinging him through the air as if bucked from a broom he only _thought_ to ever have control over? How do things only happen as if in stages to be unlocked by certain factors, regardless of how _ready_ one feels one is?

Standing there, warmed by the fire, Draco wants to smile and scream. He doesn't want the playful hand of Fate to have strung him up in all of this mess out of _love_ , because if so, how is love anything but curse even from the universe itself?

And how could he ever trust it anywhere _else_ , too?

Harry sits silent for a minute or two, then quietly admits, “I wasn't ashamed of what happened, just so you know. I wasn't keeping it to myself for that.”

Draco holds his breath. Waits.

“I didn't tell anyone about you because I didn't want to _share_ you, share something so rare that you'd shared with me,” Potter explains with a small shrug, adjusting one of the pillows Draco had used on the floor to support his back. “And, honestly, for so long I didn't know what to do—if I should write you, find you, sneak into the Manor and talk. You never wrote _me_ , so I thought maybe you'd...regretted it instead. But as time went on, I couldn't stop thinking of you. I'd wake from dreams of that kiss, from dreams of finding you in Hogwarts and talking about _everything_. I wondered about you often, and I was honestly afraid if I reached out and you _didn't_ immediately kick me away that I'd do something without thinking.”

“Like right now?” Draco grumbles, ignoring the sharp turn of Harry's head. “Leaving your wife and coming here? Writing these letters?”

He can't ignore the sneer, though, when it's so bittersweet to see.

Harry scowls at him, grunting, “Draco, don't tell me I'm being rash. I've done everything I could to _not_ be rash about it.”

Draco's mouth twists to the side while he holds to the wood, rattling down to his bones. “Then why now?”

“It's just how it happened. Like it's time, somehow,” Harry admits, the slightest bit shy again. “I _still want_ to have the talks we never had, to _understand_ why you did everything you did. I still want to know what could have been...or could be someday.”

Overwhelmed, Draco sighs. No matter what he's wanted, he doesn't know if he can handle this now or ever. He's clung to it too long, and he's taken aback by the sudden presentation of everything he'd only ever dreamed about. “I don't know, Harry.”

Potter stands, too, and they frame the fireplace with Draco standing just _enough_ over Potter with his extra bit of height. “Look, I know this is a lot, and I'm sorry. I promise you that what I said the other day—that I want your friendship—it's genuine. I do want that. Anything else would come after it. But I won't lie to you, Draco. Going down that path sometime _is_ what I hope for in the future.”

“And what if it is tried, Harry? Say we _are_ stupid and selfish enough to do such a thing. What if it is bland and boring and nothing like we both _think_ we remember? What if that...that feeling can't be replicated after everything?” he questions, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his thin jumper. “What if all we've done all these years is craft something out of nothing, like a pair of fools?”

“Only one way to find out,” Harry murmurs and leans up, hands reaching.

Draco's eyes widen as the warm palms frame his face before the equally warm lips press to his.

Time goes still.

His heart beats, but he hears it as if it is an ocean away. His mind blanks, his thoughts vanish, and the only thing he can tell, can feel, can know in that moment is Harry Potter's mouth against his, hot and emotional, begging and giving in equal parts.

For a split second, Draco feels transported back outside the Ministry hearing and believes that the rest has only happened in his mind—that his house isn't real, his life isn't real, his son never happened, and Astoria is alive somewhere without him.

For a split second, Draco gives in and takes what Potter is giving, sending it back just as bared and unabashed as lips part over one another and the thumbs spread over his cheekbones in a pleasant caress. The kiss is all that matters, and his heart is singing alive louder than it has in years. There's warmth and want and _relief_.

And then time breathes in, and Draco breathes out, and he remembers.

His house is real, his life is real, his son exists, and Astoria is dead.

And Harry Potter rocks gently back to his heels, staring up at Draco with open surprise and hope that Draco is stunned by—with eagerness and relief equal to _his_.

“So...? Dunno about you, but that felt just like I remembered it,” Harry says with that shy smile.

Draco stares, lost, for he knows Harry is right.

Everything changed over the years, and yet nothing really has. What he'd carried inside of him was real and true to itself, even with the distortion of time and memory.

As he stands there trapped by curious and happy green eyes, Draco decides that maybe Fate can be trusted...and maybe with time the bright world won't be blinding, but full of wonder if he only chooses to look.

  


 


	18. d a n d e l i o n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

18.

 

d a n d e l i o n

 

 

Potter leaves not long after his little test due to an early shift with the Aurors.

Draco watches him go with an awkward nod at Harry's glance back to him, wondering if Potter understands that even being able to use his Floo means something special—for Draco has had his enemies over the years, and he has kept things protected, magicked and warded, and apparently his charm over the Floo has decided that Potter _is worth_ its very weighted, very measured conveyance.

He eyes the empty space with a _hmph_ caught in his throat while it sits silent, naturally, as it _should_ under his scrutiny. Though he knows it has no sentience beyond the magic and wording of specific charms and wards, he has to sigh to himself as he stumbles back into his bedroom, shutting curtains tighter when the sun begins to show.

Movement catches his eye, and he pauses, face-to-face with himself in the mirror on the wall.

Draco stands captivated by what he sees so visible: pale skin along his jaw dotted with the hints of light stubble; soft light hair falling into one grey eye, the rest of its length short to forever be separate from Lucius Malfoy's image; cheeks that have defined themselves even more by adulthood and slight hints of hunger tinged with flush; and kissed lips pouting until they part, until he sucks the lower one in thought.

His hand comes up to cup his chin, to tilt his face left and right while his eyes consider his likeness and sweep down his bared throat to his broad, thin shoulders in the dark jumper.

And as Draco looks at himself, as he sees the _man_ he is, he inwardly questions just what it is Potter must see.

Does Harry, too, see the bold line of his nose, the strength of his brow, and the cut to his jaw? Does Harry note the nervousness often present in his eyes, no matter the rest of his emotions jumbling about there? Does Harry see a grown, wanting _man_ , or is he restricted to envisioning the awkward teenager that Draco often feels he still is around Potter?

What could it be that Potter sees in him that has made this all happen?

He lies in bed for another hour with fingers pressed to his lips, mind soft with new memory, curious and terrified for the coming morrows.  
  
  
  
  


 


	19. t i m b e r w o l f

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

19.

 

t i m b e r w o l f

 

 

She stares at him, speechless, mouth open for her dark hair to brush against in the breeze.

He stares back, _completely_ understanding, not even bothering to comment about how ridiculous she looks there while people pass by whispering.

“I _must_ have misheard you. It _almost_ sounded like you said Potter is back in your life.”

“I _said_ he's barging in, yes,” he grunts and kicks at a pebble with the heel of his boot in the side alley outside their normal lunch spot. He takes a breath and lets it out, says aloud the words that have circled his mind for a few days now at home. “There were...letters and conversations between he and Astoria. The last week alone has been exhausting in discovering the details.”

Pansy's eyes narrow on the hunt in a different prowl than that of Potter's. “ _What_ kind of letters?”

Draco huffs, then grows nervous and balls his fists. “The kind that discuss me, the past, and his future. He's leaving her, Pansy. He's _leaving her_ , and he kissed me again, and he _wants_ me. He _wants me_. What the _bloody hell_ am I to do now?”

He blinks, still in the shock of the past couple days. Thankfully Potter hadn't tried to come over again, owling him instead once that he'd respect some space if Draco wanted it, to which Draco had replied what a _brilliant_ idea that was, yes please, shoo. He couldn't _think_ with the chance of Potter entering through his traitorous Floo randomly.

Pansy's jaw drops with her loud, dramatic gasp. Her hand automatically reaches for his arm as she demands answers. “You're winding me up. Perfect Potter's leaving his _wife_? For you?”

“For their own problems, not me specifically, but....” Draco falls back against the brick behind him, hand rubbing his face. The lately present gravel to his voice gets rough with each word as he grumbles and kicks at the wall, “I'm fucked. I'm so _fucked_.”

And he is, truly. All he's done the last nights is think about Potter, dream about Potter, and have awkward fantasies of _sex_ with Potter. It's unnerving constantly waking in a sweat of _don't stop_.

“Draco....”

“He wants my friendship first. _Right_. As if we could ever be friends or _only_ be friends.”

“Draco.”

“I want him to go away, but I _also_ want to just _shag him_ until I've had my fill and never see him again...until he fucking remembers that he hates me, always has, and things are normal. What the hell is _wrong_ with me? How can I even _consider_ this madness?” he asks, ready to just collapse to the ground in a heap of fuck all. It's _mental_. “How can _he_?”

“Oh, for pity's sake. There's nothing wrong with you except for your awful taste in men and you not being _properly_ shagged _ever_ , you pitiful thing. And who cares about normal, Draco? Normal is boring. Embrace the extraordinary. It's what you are, what with your mind and your cunning that's gone _far_ underappreciated, if you ask me.”

Draco rests the back of his head to the wall now, still standing on hollow legs. He closes his eyes a second, needing the bit of darkness to center.

“Look, he's not going away, you know that, right? He's a thorn now and always was, wasn't he, with his sniffing about,” Pansy murmurs sympathetically and leans closer. “What did _you_ do, Draco? Did you kiss back?”

The glance between them is silent yet so, _so_ loud. It's right there in his eyes, the memory reliving itself, the passion flaring and the want aching.

Pansy rolls her eyes back briefly and exhales. “Well, that answers that. I _figured_. Too long waiting for it, hm?”

“Shut up. Like I had a fucking choice. I told him even if we _dared_ try such a stupid thing sometime, there wasn't a guarantee it'd be anything like it once was. So what's he do? Kiss me, right then and there. 'Only one way to find out,' he said and made his move. Clever bastard. I fell right for it, didn't even have a chance.”

The little laugh through her teeth over her lips makes him glare past his blush and push at her as he adds, “Not fucking funny, Pansy.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

“Like hell you are.”

Pansy grins terribly. “You're right. I'm not. I mean, I'm worried for you and all, but this is just _juicy_.”

Draco sneers and walks out of the alley, only stopping when she grabs tightly onto his elbow.

“Oh, Draco, don't be so _dramatic_ ,” she grunts and yanks him backward, both of them ignoring the ramped up whispering from passersby. “You _have_ to admit this is _delicious_ as much as it is dangerous.”

“Exactly, Pansy. It's _dangerous_ ,” Draco snaps under his breath. “I'm not about to have some illicit affair, regardless of how _hot_ the idea is. If I were...alone, maybe, but I have Scorpius to consider. He has _three_ children to think about, and one of them is Scorpius's friend. What could have been only _could have been_ once, and that's...long gone, isn't it?”

Left exactly on that day when they'd parted ways to be _quite_ precise.

Quieter, with a hint of accepted sadness, he sighs, “As much as I _want_ to keep thinking about it being a possibility some day, I'm _not_ going to be blamed for yet _another_ thing in his life by all.”

“If they blame _you_ , they're as stupid as I've long imagined. It's clearly _him_ making moves.”

“So what? They hear my name and that's it, the fools. Doesn't matter what I've done—doesn't matter that I helped him _kill_ that monster who ruined my life.”

“Look, Draco, I know losing Astoria...even the way you _did_ have her...I know it's left you in a strange spot,” Pansy admits, voice the most gentle it's been in his _life_ aside from the day of the funeral itself. “I know you'd only care what they even think of you at this point because it might affect how _he_ does or what Scorpius might hear. I get it. And I'm not telling you to hop into this blind. Bugger that. You know I don't trust him hardly at all, and you know I worry about you around him. But...I'm simply saying that as nervous as you were during lunch to clearly tell me this, you were _smiling_ to yourself, and I didn't know why. It was...surprising.”

“I did not.”

“Did so. Big stupid grin and all, just thinking to yourself. _Adorable_ , Draco.”

Draco lifts his lip in another sneer.

Pansy sighs and pinches his cheek. “I can count on _one hand_ the amount of times I've seen you smile like that in years, Draco. Think about _that_. You know happy people tend to annoy me, but _even you_ need to lighten up once in ten years.”

“All it means is that I've clearly tied too much to him and his presence, and I should amputate the limb before it rots. Find...find fulfillment elsewhere realistically, like Astoria would have encouraged, too, if I'd not wanted to do this whatever-it-is with him.”

Pansy waits until a small gaggle of witches pass before she leans up and kisses the same cheek she pinched. For a brief shared look, she is bare. She isn't rough, she isn't poking, and she isn't harsh in her teasing. She sees right into him.

“I'll support you, Draco, whatever you choose—even if it _is_ him, and you know how I feel about Potter. Contrary to what others may think, I _do_ want you satisfied in life. But if it has haunted you _this long_ , it's not an attraction. And that's the horrific thing, and that's what scares me for you.”

“Don't say it,” he whispers, swallowing and gritting his teeth.

“You _love_ him,” Pansy states anyway, then kisses his other cheek. “You're _mental_ , but it's...part of you, so I'll deal with it. Just be careful. Protect yourself, but don't build a moat around the castle you already live in, Draco. At the _very least_ , get a fucking boyfriend elsewhere if he's not a safe enough bet. Make him fucking jealous as he should be. You _need_ a man. You need to finally _live_ for yourself and embrace what you are and have rotten, dirty fun. Astoria would want you to. She wanted you to when she was _alive_.”

“I know. It's just...Scorpius...doesn't know anything like that about me,” Draco admits with a shrug. “Nobody outside you, Astoria, and Potter do. It's one of the reasons I never had a lover. I never knew...how to explain, if I got caught.”

“He's growing, and he's _much_ better behaved than we were—totally her influence, though you're a much better father than you probably imagine yourself to be,” she says with a wink. “I think he'll be fine if you tell him, you know...just enough. No need to say how his father has to go to the pub for some fine cock and a good bumming.”

Draco scowls at her and rolls his eyes. “Say it _louder_. I don't think the fucking _Prophet_ heard you.”

“Draco Malfoy likes cahh—cake!” Pansy almost shouts, laughing loudly as he slaps her over the tight skirt across her bum and storms out into the street, red to the tips of his fucking ears.

 

 


	20. a p r i c o t

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

20.

 

a p r i c o t

 

 

He's sitting in the garden when he feels he's not alone, when that awareness hits and the bittersweet warmth of Potter's heat and woodsy, spicy scent teases his nose over the fragrance of Astoria's planted late flowering bushes that fight the loss of summer in the welcomed throes of autumn.

He's sitting on a swing he'd Transfigured just for her, a lovely wooden thing he'd worked on when Scorpius was very young. He'd worked until it was _perfect_ , until it was as beautiful as she was, and he'd watched her sit in this same spot nearly every night of the pleasant seasons, staring at the sky and the woods not far off, breathing in the life returned to her in perfumed puffs she'd patted as seeds into the ground before.

Draco knows the reprieve from Harry wasn't going to be for long. He knows that regardless of Potter's divorce and desire for friendship that he is now doomed unless he fights, for Draco Malfoy knows _damn well_ that when something snags that famous focus of Potter's, _especially_ when it's him doing it _,_ it's all over. And he's snagged it. Hooked it like a fucking fish, aroused it like the scent of blood to the hungry wolf.

As honestly frightened as he is by the intensity around that great unknown he still feels gazing upon him like it had at the funeral, Draco cannot help but be similarly _enthralled._ Similarly snagged, hooked, and long since aroused.

It's only with that knowledge that he begins to ponder if Harry Potter might feel as _lost_ and searching as he does for it.

Potter sits gently next to him, shifting the rhythm of the swing off just a beat before it resumes. Both of their legs stretch out before them, Draco's longer and bent a little more.

Draco notes Harry's wearing his work uniform. It's dashing on him, as usual, black and grey and handsome with the burgundy detail.

“I like it out here,” Potter murmurs, almost like he's afraid to break the silence in the late afternoon.

Draco merely nods, not willing to break it on his end yet at least.

“Hadn't heard from you since your response. Got...a bit worried.”

His nose twitches and he crosses his arms reflexively, but Draco keeps pushing with his heels and knees, rocking the swing alongside Harry in the rhythm. “Mm.”

“I know that morning was...overwhelming, Draco. And if it was for me, I can't imagine how big it felt to you. I'm sorry about that,” Potter admits, resting against the cushioned back of the wood, face tilting upward to look right at the clouds and changing sky. “I've not been able to stop thinking about it. About you.”

Just like he'd imagined, Draco thinks, and rests his head back as well, both of them staring up at the sky. They continue pushing with their bent legs, and the swing keeps moving, lulling the heavy atmosphere of natural aroma and belonging into something even more inclusive.

“Did you tell her where you were?” Draco asks, almost wishing he hadn't.

Potter shifts a little, but doesn't look away from the clouds. “Yeah.”

Draco snorts. “Bet that went well.”

“She didn't say a word. Just got Lily ready for Molly and left.”

“And that says it all, doesn't it, Potter?” Draco mumbles, digging his left heel in harder and jarring the rhythm of the swing's motion slightly, making it harsher and faster with renewed insistence. “That says _everything_.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you can't have a conversation with me without someone being angry about it, so how would you ever expect to be friends? How could you ever imagine us...us as _more_ and anyone know?”

Dark brows furrow when Draco slides his eyes to look. Potter frowns at the sky. “Because whether they like you or not, whether they want to or not, it's my life—it's my life, my choices, and my happiness. And whenever that day comes they can either prove they love and support me, or they can sit stuck in the past. I, for one, am done being stuck there.”

He can almost hear Astoria teasing him about his “boring self-punishment” on her deathbed, and he pales just a little for it.

“Draco, it isn't just me. She'll be more than welcome to move on at her pace, and I'd want them to support _her_ with that, too. I'd want them to make her feel just as loved, even if she doesn't date anyone new. I'd especially want them to be friendly if she did, of course. So long as the person's good with the kids...that's honestly all I'd want to know.”

His head tilts this time, and he views Potter's side profile.

He sees the heavier stubble than his that marks Harry's transition to manhood and has done so since the last times at Hogwarts. He sees the handsome dark curls of hair heavy atop Potter's head and shorter down the sides and nape of his neck. He sees the definition to the face over the years—the sculpting of cheekbones not too unlike his, but the broader square of his jaw...the thinner, firm lips that Draco knows are actually soft, the bold line of his nose, and the vibrant green of those tired eyes behind equally adult glasses. Still so damn green after all these years, like a budding meadow of emerald just before the dusk.

He sees hints of the boy he fell for years ago. And Draco sees the man he's not let go, the man he's obsessed over and ached for and wondered how similar he might be to the boy of before.

“You really have moved on,” Draco mutters, still surprised by it.

Harry snorts this time, continuing to look upward. “I told you I'd been dealing with this for most of a year. I'm not rushing into anything new, as contrary as it might look. I _will_ need some time. But I'm not letting that keep me from visiting you anyway. Not when I like being around you.”

“No...second thoughts?” Draco questions, a little flushed by Harry's admittances. “Potter, it would be _natural_ to have them.”

He's had them _plenty_ , and he's not the one divorcing.

“Mostly thoughts about the kids. It's like once I opened my mind up, opened _myself_ up to memories and curiosity and a future I never let myself have because I wanted a family so badly...I couldn't go back. I couldn't shut it all down again. Does that make sense?”

Draco smiles to himself and glances away. “Yes.”

“We are amicable, don't get me wrong, but it's still progressing to that point as well in some ways. I know she's angry, and I know she's hurt. I'm angry and hurt, too. She's not the only one who's felt used over the years, or loved on a pedestal, or seen in ideals at times.”

His brows rise, but he says nothing.

And Potter sighs, frustrated, and says, “Even though she says she can imagine _why_ it's you I want in the future, even though she's grateful for my honesty now in that, she doesn't understand. No one but us really can. You and I...despite our differences and our hatreds and rivalry, only _we_ know. Only we feel it. Only we remember the moments that changed things, and only we know that we don't always need the words between us to feel something there.”

“I know,” Draco says, closing his eyes peacefully for the first time in a week. “I know, Harry.”

“I started questioning your motives around me after you saved my life at the Manor. I mean, I questioned some things in the bathroom fight, but not _that_ quite yet.”

“I know.”

“And you wouldn't tell me why you did it then, tried to bluff me off and fight. Then I flew you out of that fire.”

“I know.”

“But you were already feeling this way, weren't you? Had to have by the way you panicked when I kept asking. You risked so much for me.”

Draco swallows, the peace breaking up as he blinks in regrets and what-ifs. “Yes.”

When Potter is silent this time, turning his face to stare at Draco instead, Draco hears Pansy in his head saying those words he'd asked her not to say aloud, words he's not dared to ever say aloud, words Astoria _knew_.

It was only an attraction for the first few years. And there, right toward the end, it was _more_.

Draco clenches his eyes shut, his fingers tightening into a fist as he seems to inhale and vanish back into the memory, standing there surrounded by the broken and the hopeless, staring at Potter's dead body in the half-giant's arms.

He didn't feel the tears then. He doesn't feel them now.

But he feels the hand take his, feels it relax his fingers and weave them together strongly, the thumb stroking reassuringly.

Potter doesn't ask, thank Merlin. And Draco doesn't forfeit the handhold, choosing instead to take the little risk if only for the moment, hoping it won't burn him later.

They swing in a gentler beat as the jarring of his legs slows and calms; it's one mirroring two hearts in sync after so many years, tied together by a single unbreakable string.

They swing in the cooling air, hands warming one another, and when Potter finally mutters that he must go, Draco says nothing. He stands when Harry pulls him up, and he stares down at the hand still holding his.

Grey eyes close when Potter's free arm curls around his neck, and Draco rests his brow to Potter's shoulder, basking in the touches of Harry's head and arm and body pressed so close to his. He enfolds in the acceptance. Accepts the emotion he doesn't dare name being given back to him.

Potter promises lunch the following day, and he leaves with a small kiss to the back of Draco's hand, saying he's really sorry for crossing boundaries again, yet showing with those green meadow eyes that he's really not that sorry at all—that he might be sheepish about it, might be shy in his hopes and attempts, but if Draco doesn't shove him far away, he won't regret any move he makes upon him.

And Draco, as he eats a quiet dinner alone and rests before the fire in his room that night, smiles, feels it steal across his mouth without his control until he's grinning one of those rare kinds that he knows Pansy secretly loves seeing even when she teases him.

 

 

 


	21. v e r d i g r i s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

21.

 

v e r d i g r i s

 

He checks himself over in the long mirror of his room. Hopes that the black relaxed jumper is dressed down enough to indicate that lunch is just lunch and not dinner nor a date and therefore nothing of _real_ importance—something that he can shrug off, pretend to not chew his lip over in excitement. He's aware enough of his dreams and his confused feelings to wear looser wool trousers against the early autumn. Black polished shoes perfect the outfit he's considered all morning.

His hair is the right mixture of tossed and slicked, naturally falling over an eye. There's some slight purple under his eyes that annoys him, but there's little he can do about it. Draco decides against shaving that morning, another action to lump in with the posturing shrug of emotional shielding _in case_.

And then the clock in his study strikes near eleven, and his Floo activates as if tied to the sound of the chime itself.

Draco steps hesitantly out into the living room, grey eyes raking over Potter in his work uniform again. Harry smiles a bit shyly, hands in his parted robes' pockets. It's rare for Potter to _not_ be dashing, especially when he's _clueless_ about how wonderfully wild, yet approachable he appears, the coy faery just as curious of the wandering soul drawn to its beauty.

He fears what power that faery has. And he's kept those walls built in his study of it thus far.

“Ready?” Potter asks softly.

“Dare I ask where you're dragging me?” Draco questions in turn, brow raised as Harry snickers and tilts his head to front door.

Harry starts walking. “We're Disapparating.”

Surely Potter wouldn't take him somewhere public. Surely even Potter would know they've barely passed one another in view of others in years, and the appearance of them eating amicably together anywhere would be speculated to death in papers and conversations for at least the next week. And surely Draco would avoid looking at each and every column about it for once, choosing to not read about Harry instead of following along as he had, left behind all those years.

Harry chews his lower lip, and the subtle action catches Draco's focus against his will. “Trust me, okay? I want to show you something.”

Both brows wing up now, but Draco shrugs as he'd mentally practiced before. He notes Harry frown a little at that pretending indifference, and Potter shakes his private consideration off.

He follows Harry outside, locking his door and checking the wards around the house once. Green and grey hold each other, test each other by not looking away, and then a hand takes his and they vanish together from the doorstep.

Draco stumbles slightly when they Apparate into a small room, one not much bigger than his dining room.

Potter squeezes his fingers to steady him. Lets go to light a fire in the nearby fireplace with his wand.

Draco glances about, quite puzzled. They're clearly in a flat somewhere, and it's _entirely_ unlikely Potter would have brought them to his own house. Without recognition, without understanding, Draco's body simmers in a curious way as he sizes Harry up. As he debates the meaning of just what might be going on in that Gryffindor brain and what Harry would rather show than tell.

Harry slips out of his outer robes and hangs them nearby. He gestures, hands spread, and smiles widely. “What do you think?”

“I think, Potter,” Draco drawls, voice a bit huskier than intended causing Harry's eyes to heat as a result, “that this might be kidnapping of sorts.”

The laugh is warm. Toasty. Bubbly. And Draco smiles, unable to stop himself.

“I suppose it sort of looks that way, doesn't it? Well, I promise that's not the intention,” Harry explains and steps to a nearby window. He angles his head, and Draco's line of sight follows the silent direction. He instantly identifies the street in Diagon Alley below them.

Draco looks to Harry again. “Where are we?”

“Above Ollivanders.”

He stares, waiting for more.

Potter sighs, a hand teasing through that gorgeous ruffled hair. “It's...I've negotiated with relations of Mr. Ollivander to let the upstairs flat. This is mine for now. You're...the first person to see it.”

His eyes widen, his mouth opens slightly, and he glances about again, this time with more intensity. He sees the lone sofa by the fire, the doorway that hints at a small dining table and possible kitchenette. A closed door off to his right likely leading to a bedroom or two.

It feels so empty, so lost and aching to help. So unsure even with the bit of warmth from the fire trying to almost reassure him somehow, as if the flat itself _knows_.

“Ginny and I have...been discussing anything I want to take. Been a bit awkward the last few days once I started acting on ideas I'd talked to her about the last couple of months,” Potter says, walking past Draco to sit upon the sofa. He sits there much like he did on Draco's swing—with his head back, staring at a ceiling instead of sky—and sighs. “We agreed to tell Lily first.”

Draco takes one last appreciative view of outside in the overcast light, enjoying the lay of the brick and wood and the shop sign below. He moves one step closer to Harry, keeping the space of the fire and floor between them. And standing there, looking at the bit of fear finally showing itself in Harry's averted gaze, Draco slides a layer off of his castle wall.

Becoming friends is important to Potter. Despite how impossible it has seemed to Draco himself, he's begun to wonder if it's in fact much more possible than he'd ever dreamed it could be.

Draco swallows, arms crossing in a relaxed fashion. “When are you going to speak with her?”

“This weekend. Ginny has to be gone overnight, and I thought...I thought I'd bring Lily here so she could understand I wasn't going that far. Prove I'll still be there for dinners and tucking her in if possible with work. That she could Floo between, even, if she wanted to,” Harry says, eyes closing. “Maybe it's selfish, but I can't sleep in that house anymore. Even here...even alone, even feeling so isolated is still the slightest bit freeing from the feeling in the house, and I've been using James' room to sleep the last months without Lily knowing anyway. We're ready to move forward, but we've been too stuck in the same space until now, you know?”

A breath eases out of Draco. One he hadn't known he'd held at all. Yet another bit of evidence that Harry is serious, at the very least about his own life.

Friendship, he thinks, and angles one of his legs to bend. He's not sure _how_ to be a friend besides listen to Pansy prattle and buy her lunch or occasionally meet Greg and Blaise for a drink. But he tries anyway. “And...the rest of the family? When will you speak with them?”

“I hate doing it, but we're bringing the boys home for a weekend, possibly a bit longer. Not this one, but very soon. We need the time as a family to talk and make sure they understand that we love them. That it's not _their fault_.”

Draco nods, watching Harry grow simultaneously more resolute and more shaken. More shaken _for_ being more resolute.

His heart aches. His feet move. And he sits on the cozy sofa close to Harry, the same spot for him as on the swing, and in a single heartbeat he feels Harry reach for his hand.

“Why?” he asks, looking down at their fingers clasping together.

Green eyes look down, too. Firm, soft lips smile just enough. “You ground me.”

“Now I know you've lost it, Potter. We both know I unhinge you and have for years.”

Harry chuckles, but doesn't let go. “It's like I told you. Kissing you back then clicked it all into place. I understood what I was fighting against. I better understood resentment I'd had. And I discovered that _other_ things could be felt _instead_ underneath it all. Like grounding. Like...I'd had so many moments over the years at Hogwarts that felt surreal, even when I got past my previous muggle life and accepted what Hogwarts was as reality. That moment, though, and some recently...as almost paranormal as they are, they're also _real_. Perhaps the most real thing I've ever felt.”

Draco bites his lip, staring at their fingers with the fire's amber light.

“I know that sounds silly. I know I probably sound mental and have for a while to you,” Harry begins with an exhale. “It's not that friendships or my marriage itself weren't real, weren't connections. It's that they weren't connections to something...something big and scary and really intriguing. Love, sure, different kinds of love. But not...not that. Not....”

“Fate,” Draco mutters, almost feeling the karmic force wrapping around the flat like a genuine presence. Like Fate itself stands nearby at the window, smiling as if _finally_ they acknowledge its existence in the room.

“Yes. That. It was like I'd finally felt something that had been waiting for me all along.”

Draco swallows a little roughly, slides his jaw to the side somewhat. “You don't have to want or accept any of that, though. You can still make choices regardless.”

“And I have. And you have.”

“Yes.”

Harry tugs, and their hands move to rest upon Potter's heated thigh in his work slacks. Draco's nerves jolt pleasantly, and he restrains himself from stroking his thumb along that hidden muscle as Harry talks. “And I think I was supposed to do what I did then, too. I don't know what the future holds. I'm shocked each month when I look back at the last thirty or so days. Things happen that seem unimaginable, and yet, there they are. Here we are. Like I said the one morning, it's something stringing me along.”

Draco lifts his grey eyes from their hands. Stares right into Harry's face that is kept a respectable distance away. Quietly he whispers, “I don't know.”

It's all he can say, regardless of what his heart and cock want. Astoria's been dead for a few months, and Potter's been barging in lately in ways Draco had never prepared himself for. Hadn't even allowed himself to imagine, either.

Harry seems to understand. His head inclines enough for an errant lock of hair to fall against his glasses momentarily, and he smiles reassuringly. “That's okay. I'm not bringing you here to ask you out. Don't feel pressured.”

“Then why _am_ I here, Potter?” he asks bluntly.

Something happens that he doesn't expect.

It's not a kiss. It's not a sultry teasing look or even an amicable joke to ease serious conversation.

Harry's green eyes of strength and power, of vulnerability and taxation wet before him, and the chin of the Chosen One trembles. “Because though Hermione is my friend, she will be torn between Ron and I when it comes out entirely, trying to get us over the awkwardness together. Because I'm not dragging Luna or Neville through my crap like this.”

Draco almost glares, but Potter leans closer, eyes still so wet they're reflecting the fire nearby, and he whispers, “Because, Draco, you're my friend, but you're not. You're more. You've _always_ been more, be it rival or _something_ else I never got to know. You understand me in ways no one else does because you're not biased in the same manner. I brought you here because...because I need _you_.”

His own eyes are wet as Harry finally breaks after their handfuls of talks with Potter seeming so strong about it all.

“I don't fully understand it,” Harry murmurs, voice cracking. “I'm sorry, it's pushy, it's selfish, but goddamn it, I need _you_. I need your presence. I need the acceptance you give when you don't push me away. And I need to give it all _back_ , if you'll let me on any level.”

Instinct makes him pull his fingers from Harry's and lift his arm. Instinct not unlike tucking Scorpius to his side or brushing his lips to Astoria's brow. Instinct tells him to accept Harry when Potter slides into him, when Harry buries his face against Draco's throat and breathes out heavily, shaking so much that Draco rests his arm about Harry's shoulders to keep him from rattling more.

“Shh,” Draco murmurs over and over, soothing with long, gentle swipes of his left hand over Harry's soft hair. His lips rest against the hidden lightning scar, not with romantic intent, but with comfort. With _friendship_ and whatever _they_ are that breaks such limited definitions and flaunts its foggy mist in their faces.

“Everything feels bigger than me, and for once, I feel like I can't keep trying to figure it out. I have to just let it happen. _Experience_ something without trying to control it or the outcome.”

Draco nods above Harry, totally understanding. It's the string between them, and he understands that, too.

“And even if we _don't_ see each other _that_ way some day, I still want _this_. I want this connection however it can be around—as friends, as something unnamed if it has to be. Whatever it just is,” Harry says, pausing to wipe at his eyes as his glasses come off for a second. “I refuse to think it's wrong. I refuse to regret it or feel bad for spending any time with you. It's like finding a part of myself I hadn't known I'd even lost, and _Merlin_ , I know I sound like an absolute nutter at this point, but this has been in my head for so long. I swear it makes sense somehow.”

“I understand, Harry,” Draco replies, shifting as Harry retreats and sits up on his own. His arm falls away, and they smile at one another in a strange, natural yet otherworldly kind of peace.

Harry is silent for a few breaths, and then quietly he states, “After we tell Lily, we're sitting down with the family. We're telling Ginny's parents, her brothers. The adults, more or less.”

Draco feels the apple of his throat bob slightly. He can only _imagine_ how the Weasel's going to act at the shock. At what Ron Weasley might see as a betrayal, especially if Draco's name is mentioned in any capacity, too. No matter the eternal bond between Potter and Weasley, it still _is_ Weasley's only sister.

Friendship, he thinks again as Harry waits for something, hoping it _is_ possible. Because if Fate has her cards and strings, Life also has its mirrors. Parallels, despite those who do not see them or deem them incorrectly as mere coincidence.

And he leans closer to His Friend Harry, asking only one question that he knows Astoria would poke at him to speak until the words trickle from him in agitation. They're not agitated, though. They're tired, but willing.

“What do you want from me?” Draco inquires, half hoping Potter will just shake his head and move on, saying it's fine, don't worry, _I'll get through_.

Harry eyes him thoughtfully instead. Reflectively. “If it goes...really badly or gets too intense, I might.... If it's okay, I mean.”

Potter's words fall to the comfortable quiet of the room that seems to reach for him with its energy.

Draco inhales. Exhales. Smirks. And says exactly all he needs to say, offering without speaking aloud the open palm of the words, “My Floo's already allowed you passage without my direct permission. I imagine it will keep doing so, mm?”

The gratitude in the grin that splits Harry's mouth almost astounds Draco, and he's caught off guard more by the immediate hug that feels quite like the one by the swing: encompassing and empowering and unconditional.

Harry pulls him to his feet and shows him the rest of the flat. It's small, certainly, but it's got two bedrooms and an small converted maid's room split from the once large bathroom, so the boys could share one bedroom and Lily could take the little one and decorate it for herself for whenever she would be there. The downsized bathroom is tiny with its shower and toilet, and the kitchenette is barely a third of Draco's own modest sized kitchen.

But it is all wood and warm and magical while it waits for Harry to repurpose it. It is welcoming of the weary and encouraging of the hopeful, and somehow Draco knows that deep inside of himself. Like the flat _wants him_ to know it.

As he sits at the small table across from Harry, both eating sandwiches Potter had prepared that morning, Draco wonders if Harry feels the energy of the space watching over him, not unlike the ghost of a concerned mother hoping only the best for her growing, brave child.

 

 


	22. s a f f r o n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

22.

 

s a f f r o n

 

The rest of the week is actually pleasant. He wakes rested and curious about it, finds an appetite and appeases it, even goes to sit in Astoria's room for a few moments and glance about, allowing himself to miss her and think of her reactions to the new turns his life has decidedly taken him along.

It's pleasant because even if he's not sure what the right thing is, what the wrong thing is, what the _selfish_ thing is, he has found a sense of peace he had not before with Potter in his life. For once he feels chosen, feels _wanted_ by Harry the way he imagines Granger or the Weasel must have felt back then in Harry's circle. For once he isn't loathing the idea of befriending the Hero partly out of fear of rejection repeating. He's not letting his ego between them this time, only natural concerns.

He's discovering instead that regardless of where the stones before him may curve, twist, or at times perhaps skip spots along the grassy path of his life, he can choose to embrace himself anyway. Embrace the _stones_ themselves, the string possibly, too.

As Friday rolls into Saturday, Draco finds himself pacing a bit more about the house than he had earlier in the week. His subconscious knows it is due to concern for Potter with his daughter, but his conscious brain is still torn on letting himself exhibit all of that yet.

In his restlessness he decides, feeling _pulled_ almost, to use the Floo into The Leaky Cauldron and walk Diagon Alley to shop out of boredom. To distract himself, but with some sense of purpose he can't see but can feel. Draco's feet take him past Ollivanders; he glances up at the window he knows hides Harry's flat from view, and he smiles a little to himself, tucking his excited scarf from the wind's playfulness as he keeps walking.

An odd urge to purchase chocolate strikes him, and he enters that shop, greeting the old witch behind the counter with the nod as he always has. She prepares the exact box of chocolates he gets each time, and he takes it without its usual bow, deciding it unnecessary without Astoria's red smile to accompany its unwrapping.

He chooses to stroll a little longer, enjoying the hint of coming rain in the air and the thinness of the crowd today, and it's as he's on his way past most of the shops when he decides to Apparate home that he hears the sound.

Someone's crying. Someone is screaming. And a little voice is calling _his name_.

Draco spins, shocked and wide eyed, barely able to lift the box of chocolates up into the air from his side as the girl crashes into his legs from his sudden stop. He stares down at her, the recognition instant and the worry tripling with his lack of information.

She wipes at her face, shoving strands of ginger hair out of it, and grabs for the edge of his cloak. “Mr. Malfoy, help. I...I'm lost.”

He manages to shake off his shock long enough to bend a bit and view her better. “Why are you lost?” he asks carefully.

“B-Because,” Lily Luna Potter grumbles, frustrated and anxious and obviously hating the tears in her eyes. “Please help. I'd normally find my way, but I'm...confused right now.”

“Where do you need to go?” he questions. His voice is gentle, and his eyes pretend he doesn't know the answer.

“S-Somewhere. The wand shop, near there.”

“And how did you get so far down here?”

“I ran.”

“Why?”

Lily balls her fists and tightens her face. “Because I'm _mad_. Because I'm...sad. Because I don't understand, okay? I saw you. I remembered your hair.... You bought me chocolate. Coconut with rum.”

Draco smiles a little at her resourcefulness, at her obvious trust in him, but he knows he has to help her. Has to walk her all the way to Harry himself because he is a father, too, and he can imagine exactly the terror Potter is feeling _right now_.

“Come,” he says, and opens his free hand.

Lily grabs it without complaint despite her growing age, and he leads her around a corner and back up the street, past some shops and lots of people _staring_ and _whispering_. He glares at them and tugs her closer, lets his cloak shield her from them slightly as the wind blows it just as protectively.

Draco feels the second Potter's daughter freezes up. He knows the exact moment she, too, sees her terrified father in the street shouting her name with wet eyes and a broken heart. And he feels his own crack when hers does, when she looks so _torn_ right in front of him with need and pain.

“Potter,” he calls softly. He knows Harry will hear _him_ over anything, will respond instinctively.

And he does so. Harry spins, sees them, and with relief and confusion in his eyes runs for them, not stopping until he has bent and scooped his daughter up in his arms regardless of how big she is. Draco watches the crowd waiting and observing, and the urge to protect these two the way he would Scorpius from the speculation hits. His grey eyes gaze about, shaming and slamming into each pair he can find looking back, and many turn away, not willing to tangle with his fierce silence no matter their possible personal hatreds.

“God, Lily, I was so _scared_ ,” Harry breathes out into his daughter's hair and ear, holding her tightly to him while she wraps her legs about his torso and holds on to his neck, too. “I didn't even hear you leave. You told me you had to use the loo, and I saw you go in, and I turned my back for _a minute_ to get you something to drink and you were _gone_.”

“I'm sorry,” Lily Potter mumbles into Harry. “I'm sorry, Daddy.”

“Shh, baby, it's okay. You're okay. Thank Merlin you're okay.”

Draco shifts his weight, torn between wanting to leave them to their needed space and unsure if his presence is still required or not.

Harry shivers, but he doesn't put his daughter down. He merely turns to walk back in the direction of Ollivanders, and his green eyes lock on Draco's face with something so bare and painful and beautiful that Draco actually lifts a foot to follow, entranced.

“Come on,” Potter orders him, and the pair walk through the quiet street, both ignoring everyone else but the girl shuddering and calming against Harry.

He follows Potter up the side stairs in the alley and enters the flat behind them, standing near the door still as Harry stops near the kitchenette and breathes. He kisses the side of Lily's face and speaks softly to her, things Draco doesn't need to hear but does anyway: That no matter her age she'll always be his baby girl, his _only_ girl. That she is worth more than she knows, that she is loved and that he is still scared, even holding her safely.

“We'll talk in a minute. You're not in trouble, though, I promise,” Harry says and finally rests Lily back to her feet, holding her shoulder as she settles herself.

Lily rubs her face tiredly. “Okay, Dad.”

“I need to speak with Mr. Malfoy—with Draco. Go drink your juice and take some breaths.”

Draco tilts his face, appearing to all the world stoic and unaffected, but there in his eyes is warmth enough that even the girl notices. He's surprised and yet not at all when she comes forward, independent and brave as she was yelling for _him_ in a crowd of elderly witches who would have aided her, and she looks up at him with big eyes.

“Thank you for helping me,” she says.

He bites his lip. Nods. And pops the lid on his purchase, bending slightly to a knee and holding the box out to her.

Her face lights up with a smile, and she asks, eyeing its contents, “Coconut with rum?”

Draco winks and smirks softly.

Lily quickly takes one of the chocolates out, unwraps it and pops it into her mouth, smiling shyly as he rises back to his full height and watches her walk into the kitchenette.

“Draco,” Harry murmurs, catching his attention. Harry angles his head, and Draco follows Potter again, this time into Harry's cluttered bedroom of boxes and clothes over a barely made bed.

Draco stands before Harry feeling all the fear and relief repeat itself, and he stares at the eyes staring at his.

“How did you find her?” Harry asks quietly.

“She saw me. Called for me, asked me to help her,” Draco explains as quietly.

The strangest smile teases Harry's lips; it's one of wonder and happiness and _something_. And then arms quickly surround him, and Draco lifts his free hand to pat Harry on the shoulder.

Harry squeezes him tightly, almost as tightly as he had his daughter carrying her back to the flat. And he steps up slightly on his toes, looks Draco dead in the face, and whispers, “ _Thank you_ , Draco. If it weren't for you...I know what I see at work. It's all I could imagine happening if I didn't find where she went. I was halfway about to use a tracking spell, but I'd hoped she'd still be very close by in another shop, angry at me.”

“It's sorted back,” Draco reminds him. “She...wouldn't say why she ran, but that she was angry and sad.”

Harry sighs and drops his brow, resting it to Draco's jaw without thought. “She is. Ginny and I talked with her this morning before Ginny had to go, and I brought Lily here hoping we could decorate the one room together and maybe make her feel a little better. I've never done this before. I don't know what to do, what exactly to say. She'd been really quiet after crying before, and then she got really angry when Ginny had to go, telling her she wanted us to spend some private time together while she was gone and that she'd be back in the morning from her trip. She told Lily that we needed our father and daughter time. That I needed it with her. Ginny would have swapped with another player otherwise and stayed.”

“It sounds...very difficult,” Draco acquiesces, unsure of what else to say. His hand still rests upon Harry's shoulder, and it slowly, unconsciously, slides down part of Harry's back. “But you knew it would be.”

“I knew it would be. I just didn't know _how_ it would present itself.”

“Well, she wanted to find you again, so take heed from that, Potter. She doesn't hate you. She's just a scared child unsure of change, and even in that, she knows she needs you. You're still the Hero, like _always_.”

“That's a relief," Harry says.

But there's a hint of darkness in Harry's eyes, and Draco narrows his. “It's not your fault, Potter. Don't be stupid.”

Harry looks at him for a breath or two. And finally he nods, exhaling.

They both note the closeness between them, the warmth around them circulating, and Draco gives a little cough under his breath. “I'm going home. I was about to leave when she called for me. Lucky I heard her.”

“Thank you again,” Harry sighs.

They part and walk back out into the flat. Draco smiles slightly at the little wave Lily sends him from the table, and then he passes by that doorway and goes to the main entrance, hand pushing the door.

His heart feels heavy with the emotion of the event, yet lighter somehow.

And when he senses Harry suddenly quite close behind him, holding the door and slightly stepping across the threshold just enough to confuse him, Draco looks back, brows arcing handsomely.

Harry Potter grabs Draco Malfoy by the chin, leans up, and kisses him right on the mouth, whispers one last heartfelt _thank you_ , and shuts the door, leaving Draco to collect himself there on the side stairs and step slowly down to the ground before Disapparating home, needing the solidness under him before he might be suddenly whisked into the air, feet and body floating in rebirth like that of the trumps' Fool.

 

 


	23. p i n e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Home finally. Busy with a commission, but still working on this.
> 
>  
> 
> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

23.

 

p i n e

 

The letter in his hand grows with ink, swelling like the bit of pressure around his heart as he thinks of his son gaining confidence in himself and school. A smile teases the corner of his mouth, and just for a moment as he dips the tip of his quill, he feels her.

A breath of air, the scent of perfume, a teasing echo of an laugh pressed upon his senses.

Memory alive, it seems.

Draco pauses, looks about, brows up in curiosity. Even walks around the house and out into the garden, senses tugging away. He sees nothing, hears nothing more, but he gets the strangest feeling somehow that he isn't alone.

Of course she'd check somehow.

So as he returns to his letter and his writing and his thoughts, he murmurs under his breath, “I don't have to go after him. He's coming for me, the stubborn bastard.”

The wind stirs outside his study window, vines tapping it in a subtle laughing rhythm.

He grunts that she could have _warned_ him somehow, and quietly, almost afraid, he rubs his left sleeved arm. Grey eyes are absorbed by the murmur of the fire, the dancing therein, and with the hypnotic thrall, he admits his fears, each and every one: worry that it's a trap, worry that Potter will suddenly change his mind, worry others will taint Potter's view of him, worry that _he_ will taint that view of himself. That if friendship is difficult to maintain on its own, romance is then not only nigh impossible but irresponsible. Fears of not being enough to keep Harry's attention, thoughts about his sex appeal and his growing age, insecurities about what he's never really gotten to do before for his own sexuality, the depth of wanting to _prove_ that things he'd felt for years were real, not only to Harry but also to himself, and, of course, the constant battle of right and wrong.

It's amazing what having a child can do, what it can inspire one to have to redefine in the space around them. The urge to do right by his son, to not put his son into a difficult situation with his only friend eats at him, but more than that, far deep inside of him is the harsh swallow of possible rejection. Scorpius doesn't even know about his sexuality. How could he begin to explain it, explain his reasons for being so silent all the years? How can he explain his marriage to his son without sounding...awful and selfish and like the boy's lived only a life of lies?

And when the fire only waves calmly, nary a crackle or sound, something settles in his mind without his direct intention. Something prepares, girds itself in waiting. Something lets him rethink all those years of silently wanting the Chosen One. Perhaps it's his libido, that teenager kept alive inside of him in repression still screaming against the walls of shame and name and mistakes.

The onslaught is unstoppable when he's kept it forced back for so long in anger and uncertainty.

Images come to him, unbidden, as he sits behind his desk desperately hard already at the mere _idea_ of lips on his, hands over his body, and another warm cock against his thigh. He inhales as the nerves in his skin simulate the feeling of Potter's curious, strong touch lazily making a path down his chest alongside a warm mouth claiming his neck.

His hand moves without conscious thought, and his eyes close to see those visions without distraction.

He hasn't done this in some time. Couldn't. No matter the complicated desire, no matter the suppressed drive and depression, the _guilt_ and feelings of failure...no matter how turned on being near Harry just _gets_ him, it was as if the sudden reality and possibility of Potter made touching himself almost too raw and open to attempt.

Like a potion of a drug, like the high of confidence, the allure's strength is now here.

He thinks of Potter's kiss on him in this very room—of how it had literally caused him to dissociate for a moment in time, of the _power_ it holds over him still. Of how much control he's never had and desperately needs. And he thinks over the little ones since to his hand and mouth, and Draco knows suddenly as he revisits the recent memory of Harry's words in the flat that he, too, _has power_ over Potter. Likely always has in his own way with their rivalry.

Enticed by the thinking of taking dominance, seduced by his own imagination in flexing that power, his fingers slide into his unbuttoned trousers and under his pants to touch, cup and hold. The little moan teases from his mouth that smiles on its own, not aware of the tongue sensually swiping over it the way his mind imagines another tongue doing. His grip tightens some as he strokes himself, long legs before him clenching down to the arches of his feet with his back sliding down a bit in the chair.

“Harry,” he whispers, imagining the handsome face smiling playfully.

“Draco,” he hears in the fantasy's ear, like a soft spell.

It undoes him. His pace quickens, his heart races, his body aches for _more_ , and teeth graze his lower lip in a long awaited moment of exaltation.

Draco comes with a sigh of relief and the knowledge that he's barely scratched the surface.

And as he stares down at the mess on his lap and trousers with a Slytherin smirk he's not used in years, he feels it slowly relax into something more comfortable, something more mature still there under his growing peace within himself.

 

 

 


	24. b i t t e r s w e e t _ s h i m m e r

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

24.

 

b i t t e r s w e e t   s h i m m e r

  

He lies in bed the following Saturday night, fighting sleeplessness as he often does in the preparation of routine nightmares.

The clock ticks away in the next room, winding him all the more. Rolling over again in a thin grey shirt and silky black pants, Draco faces the curtains drawn over the nearby window and forces his eyes to close.

His body rests some, but his mind stays helpless, keeping him just on the fine line of awareness and dozing off. He considers getting up for a sip of some Dreamless Sleep, then decides against it, worried that being dependent on it off and on over the years might be part of his problem, too.

At two in the morning, Draco crosses the line into sleep and steps backwards over it five minutes after when the Floo activates in the house. The sound is distinctive with the hush of flame and magic, but it's like the roar of a dragon in his ears causing his body to jerk slightly out of its light fall into rest.

His breath paces, his eyes open, and he hears the soft foot steps like he had that definitive morning with the letters all scattered about him on the floor. This time the paces search about a little longer until they bring themselves to the other side of his shut door.

Draco slides back over to face it. Waiting.

His eyes watch the knob twist almost hesitantly...twisting almost with fear and worry as it pauses once before resuming. The door lightly pushes open with the softest of creaks.

Draco's heart races while he takes Harry in: bowed head hiding his face, slumped yet still proud shoulders, exhaustion hanging over him almost tangible. And in doing so he wonders how he had _never_ noticed the way the night seems to wrap itself around Potter's tense, silent and shadowy form. The darkness caresses Harry almost with a sense of personal possession, and Draco makes his decision then and there.

The heavy head lifts up to stare at him across the dim room when Draco slightly adjusts, the sound loud enough to capture Harry's focus.

Harry steps closer, and enough light from the window breaks the curtains to cast across the green eyes that are wet and tired and wanting shelter. Wanting and needing _him_.

Draco blinks, feeling chosen by something wild, and with a deliberate slow movement pulls his blankets back, then lies down again and closes his eyes. One breath, two, and Harry crosses the room. Draco says nothing, just swallows down his nerves and bit of uncertain excitement as Potter kicks boots off and sits down on the edge of the bed. Draco cracks an eye to watch Harry shrug out of a jacket of some kind and toss it to the floor.

Harry breathes out loudly. Shakes so hard Draco feels it through the mattress.

He adjusts and reaches, fingers barely pressing upon a shoulder and back, and Harry falls into his arms, warm and heavy and solidly real.

Harry tries to settle against him as Draco lies at a slight angle, left hip pressing to Harry's side and part of his bum. He moves only long enough to adjust the covers, continuing his silence; one arm under Harry's body and the other arm about Harry's middle wrap around Potter together. Draco's eyes soften in the dark as Harry grips his arms tightly—the shaking continuing before Draco hears the first attempt at a suppressed cry.

So Draco angles more, holds tighter, closer, until he and Harry are as snug as possible.

Potter is warm, like a small fire against him enfolding upon its logs with the constant need for more. He is exhausted, a broken hero trying to find his way through a confusing battlefield alone. And he is more vulnerable than Draco Malfoy has ever seen Harry Potter be.

The gentle withheld cries shift to choked, beaten sobs, and Draco holds him through it. For the next hour he's awake, hearing the heart breaking sounds and feeling the tremors against him, Draco remains calm. Steady. Quiet. He knows the trust given to him right now is more than he's ever been given by anyone else, and he refuses to back away.

He doesn't shush or hush Potter. Doesn't murmur pointless reassurances.

Draco gives only his presence, only his essence and depth the way Harry had asked him to do.

Potter shivers as the shaking regresses into trembles and then relaxation; his face burrows to the back of Harry's head, nose against an ear and lips to the warm throat.

Another long hour in silence by the ticking of the clock passes, and Harry finally slumps, weightless one second and heavy the next, wrapped in safety in Draco's Slytherin nest of protection, friendship, and silent love.

It is only then, when he is positive that Harry is asleep, that Draco breathes out.

He kisses twice upon Harry's throat and crosses the line once more with Harry against him, neither one walking backwards to wake for many peaceful, healing hours.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Big chapters coming. We are pushing over the bridge, almost to the keystone of confirming the relationship.]


	25. e n g l i s h _ l a v e n d e r

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

25.

 

e n g l i s h   l a v e n d e r

 

Warm, so warm, wrapped up in love itself, he wakes confused. Draco's been used to waking alone and cold over the years to his empty bed, but this morning there is warmth still in his arms and intertwined with his legs.

He opens his grey eyes the smallest amount, unsure what has woken him. Seeing the dark hair in front of his face startles him enough to jerk aware, and a disgruntled groan responds in front of him as Potter keeps hold of Draco's half-retracting arm and pulls it back over him in sleep.

Draco comes to awareness in instinctive remembrance. Quickly he leans up a little and looks over Potter, amused to find the glasses gone from his nose and folded next to the pillow. Harry's eyes are shut calmly, but with the slightest bit of frustration in their lines. Harry's breathing is rhythmic and steady, his lips are parted, and his brows are tilted just barely in what is, undeniably, adorable consternation.

Draco smiles a tiny smile to himself and lies back down carefully to not disturb his guest.

Grey eyes stare up at the ceiling above his handsome cherry wood bed, and his mind grows preoccupied with what the _fuck_ to do. Merlin, it's like a morning after without any of the _fun_ before.

A persistent _tap, tap_ catches his hearing, and he turns his face, brows rising at a pretty tawny owl sitting against one of the thicker vining ivy outside the window. A parchment roll is in its grip, but what humors the hell out of him is the obvious impatience the bird somehow shows in its face.

He doesn't know the owl, so he imagines it's not for him. Draco looks back to the sleeping head near his and debates waking Harry; honestly, he'd rather lie there a while longer, able to stare as much as he wants without shielding or deflecting. But the _tap, tap_ gets more aggravated, and he snickers under his breath and shifts more on his side, conforming to the body pressing back into his.

Draco stops the pleasured hiss in time, shocked by the pulse that rocks his body from the brush of his groin to Harry's sexy backside. He stops himself from pushing more, from rubbing as he wants to do, and instead shifts his arm that Potter has such a death grip on.

“Potter,” he softly calls with a little shake of his open palm over Harry's covered chest. “Potter, wake up.”

“Mmmph.”

“Potter.”

When Harry's breathing doesn't change, Draco gets more motivated. The owl taps harder at the window, the sound now grating to his ears, and Draco pulls backwards, rolling Harry partially onto his chest.

“What?” Harry asks, blinking rapidly with a confused pout. Green eyes try to clear without their glasses, and Harry's brows jump up. “Draco?”

Draco sighs, wondering how much the Gryffindor even remembers. “There's a bird for you.”

“Huh?”

“That,” he grunts, jerking his head as the rapping gets louder and more _staccato_.

Harry pushes up, hand resting over Draco's thigh unconsciously as his free fingers sweep about for his glasses. Draco takes the seconds to eye Harry's tight muggle short sleeved shirt, a deep burgundy shade complimentary to him. Harry gets his glasses on and leans over Draco's body in bed.

He snorts. Draco arches a brow.

“Margot,” Harry sighs and climbs across Draco rather than exit the side he entered on.

Draco shakes his head, amused and slightly annoyed, and then laughs outright when Harry opens the latch on the window and is immediately pecked by the huffy owl.

“Ouch! Should have known she'd send _you_. Damn it, Margot, stop!”

“What witch named her owl such a ridiculous name?” Draco inquires, smirking as Harry sucks on a slightly bleeding knuckle while grabbing the parchment away.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Hermione did. It's her business owl, the one that annoys people so they can't just shoo her off.”

Draco bites his lip, noticing the owl puffing up proudly. “As pushy and know-it-all as Granger, then.”

“Basically,” Harry mumbles, reading over the ripped open parchment. Draco studies the frown taking over Potter's expression, and his stomach clenches with the bit of concern he still doesn't know how to use.

When Harry stands there looking quite uncomfortable and guilty, Draco's mood sours.

“Dare I ask?” he questions a little loudly. A little tartly. “Is she disgusted that you're here?”

“No. She doesn't know _where_ I am. Letter says she went by my flat first thing this morning, and she's worried that I was gone. Wants to be sure I'm okay,” Harry explains quietly, turning the parchment over once in his hands. The tawny owl rasps at him with her demand, and Potter sheepishly glances to Draco. “Um. She's used to...treats from Hermione.”

“So Granger can give her one later.”

“And...she might also be...used to them from me. You know. Less bites that way.”

“Enabling idiot,” Draco grumbles, but climbs out of bed and strides from the room into his study for a moment. He digs about through his desk, finds the bag of treats he feeds his barn owl, and returns to the bedroom, tossing the small sack Harry's way. “There. You owe me.”

Harry pauses at those words, staring at him intently, and Draco curses inside.

Before he can say anything more to either fuck it up or fix it, Harry pulls one of the treats from the bag and holds it out to the owl, patting it on the head once in familiar routine.

“I do,” Harry finally says.

Draco's face tightens. A hand rubs across his stubble. “You know I didn't mean it that way, Potter.”

“But I do.” The green eyes are quite insistent.

“Shut up,” Draco snaps and sits back upon the bed, eyes only on his feet.

Intake of breath, sigh of frustration. Draco pretends not to pay attention to Potter moving for his jacket, yanking out a self-writing quill that he quietly dictates in reply on the back of Granger's parchment. Potter steps back over, gives the parchment to the owl, and watches it fly away immediately.

Draco sits there, feeling like an arse. Feeling like he is dancing to a tune he hasn't heard before, feeling like he wants Astoria to walk into the room and mouth the words he should speak. But he knows he doesn't like Potter feeling _indebted_ , even if Harry _is_ aware of how personally giving he's been lately.

Uncomfortable, he doesn't move or look up. He hears Harry walk again, and he sees the feet in black socks stand in front of his, the loose trousers covering what he knows from one night of closeness to be muscled, lean thighs and a curved, enticing arse.

“Draco,” Harry murmurs.

Draco's mouth tightens. He doesn't look up.

So, naturally, Potter bends to his knees until they are level.

Draco glares at him a little, annoyed and generally awkward. Harry smiles at him, surprising Draco with its genuine amused happiness. Strong fingers tease his jaw, brush over his stubble, and Draco's eyes snap in hypnotic snake-like focus onto the tongue that swipes along Harry's lower lip.

“I appreciate you letting me stay,” the words form in front of him. “I wouldn't have gotten through last night as well without it.”

“That bad?” Draco asks, throwing it out there. The tune may be new, and so might the dance be, but he's Slytherin and Malfoy and _damn it_ , he's going to perform it perfectly anyway. Make it look as effortless as possible in his insecurity.

The dark head drops low before him, waves of hair hiding everything from sight. Draco hears the attempt to control an emotional rush, and his hand moves on its own, cupping Potter's jaw and lifting it back up until they are eye-to-eye. He swallows as he strokes the matching stubble, as the vivid green sees into him and through him, as it opens and reflects like the heart of a crystal.

“They were in shock,” Potter says, emptily. “Ginny explained that it was mutual, that there needed to be respect as it was our lives and our decision, and that no one is being cast away as having done anything wrong.”

Draco's thumb dares to brush along Potter's handsome chin and back. “You spoke with the adults?”

“Her parents and Ron and Hermione. George, thankfully, was out of town, and the rest are quite aways away at the moment. Luna kept Lily for us.”

“How...are you...feeling?” Draco petitions, wincing inwardly at the awkwardness of his voice. “Were they...receptive?”

Harry's mouth twists to the side, and he keeps his own hold on Draco's jaw, his fingers reaching up to cup behind Draco's ear and into his short pale hair. Harry looks him over, mind not present as he answers, “I don't know how I feel. Relieved, I guess. Scared. Curious. And Molly and Arthur were upset, but kind. Told me I'm always family no matter what.”

“Good.”

They stare at one another before Harry's face contorts. “Hermione wanted to be sure I knew what I was doing—afraid it was impulsive, but was still respectful with Ginny and I both explaining. Ron....”

Draco feels his expression shift into something defensive, something angry and protective. “What did he say?”

“At first he didn't say anything. It took a minute for it to sink in, and then he was shaking his head at me because no matter Ginny's side of things, I vowed in marrying his sister to always be there for her,” Harry explains, clenching his eyes shut a second. “He and I are...right now we're working on a really emotionally difficult case at work, so he was more angry sounding than I think he genuinely felt. Just all timed wrong on that end.”

“It's not his marriage,” Draco says, knowing he said his own version of Weasley's rant well before. And where perhaps he snapped partially for concern the way Weasley no doubt did, Draco also knows damn well he did it more to shove Potter firmly away. To not be blamed for it, like everything else.

The memory settles into his gut uncomfortably while Potter glances to him, as if thinking the same thing, but Harry sighs and continues, “He's...worried about her, of course, and I think stuck between wanting to worry about me as my best mate, too, without offending Ginny. Even if she told him there _is no need_ for feeling pressure to choose a side, since there are no sides to choose, Ron would still struggle a bit. I get it. It's a weird situation. I don't have a sister, but if he and Hermione ever split up, I'd feel a little stuck on what to say, too, even if they were fine. It's an awkward thing that has to pass.”

Draco leans back out of Harry's grasp, sitting upright and looking away.

Harry pushes to stand, one hand absently toying with the silvery duvet.

“And he had a problem with that explanation?”

“Kind of,” Harry replies with fast wince. “Ginny and I didn't say what else was driving us apart, so he thinks it's all our minor irritations that haven't gone away in years. Ron's smart enough to know we're not telling him everything, though, and he's speculating it to death.”

Draco grits his teeth. “Me, you mean. You didn't tell them about _me_.”

“My sexuality,” Potter corrects and shifts his weight. “I didn't tell them my feelings for you or about  _you_ yourself. You're not at fault, Draco. They're just my private matters. And without all the information, Ron told me to grow the fuck up—that conflicts pass, and we were giving up over nothing. That we'd endured worse, and didn't we remember how awful it was apart in the War and such. Wasn't a good night, and keeping my mouth shut on things I'm still...figuring out was difficult. I don't like keeping things from Ron or Hermione. Not since the War. But I'm just...not ready yet. And I didn't want to 'out' you, either.”

Grey eyes flick above the black padded headboard. It's strange to feel simultaneous gratitude and bizarre disappointment and not know why.

“Hey,” Harry murmurs and pushes his legs against Draco's, knees bumping intently.

Draco exhales and looks up.

“I _am_ appreciative of this—of you letting me come here and listening to me.”

“I know,” Draco sighs.

“Then what's wrong?”

Pale fingers dig back through his white blond hair, and he grumbles out in agitation, “I didn't...didn't let you stay for you to feel a _debt_ , you arsehole. I did because....”

The smile is in Harry's eyes alone as he waits. “Because...?”

Draco's lips stay pinched shut while his eyes storm like clouds debating rain or thunder. He scoffs and shrugs, but keeps a constant glance on Potter before him.

“I understand,” Harry murmurs softly. Potter bends enough and presses their brows together, his hands on either side of Draco upon the bed digging in and gently caging. “You're a friend when I need it, and I'm grateful.”

“There's a 'but' in that sentence, Potter,” Draco grunts, implicitly hearing the silent conjunction.

The grin is cheesy, and as silly as it looks upon Potter, it is utterly charming. Endearing. And Draco melts just a little, smiling back when Harry brushes their noses together.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “There is. You're being a friend when I need it, _but_...just try to relax, Draco. What happens or doesn't...it's okay. I promised no pressure. We'll figure it out when we do. We've always followed our own path together, haven't we?”

Draco's brow rises as he considers those emeralds so close. “Mm.”

Harry's nose teases his still, and Potter whispers that he's got to go, has to meet Granger lest her worry has her sending Margot off and on the rest of the day. Harry says he'd like to keep the skin on his fingers, at least.

There's a handsome wink before those eyes close, and Draco's close right after. The kiss is warm and full of thoughtful words, just like it was years ago. Lips part and press, angle and possess, and his hand moves to weave his fingertips into the waves of hair the way a strong palm has suddenly moved to the nape of his neck.

Slowly he sees the tender vision of Potter's face just after it stops: Lids shut, mouth slightly open, face awash in magical awe. Draco's heart rushes blood through his body as his pupils dilate in response to something so hidden, so personally beautiful.

Harry blinks. Smirks when the corner of Draco's mouth lifts.

He watches Harry shake into his jacket and slip his boots back on, and Draco nods his goodbye at the gentle wave. When the Floo makes its soft sigh as Harry vanishes in the other room, Draco looks across to his mirror. His cheeks are rosy, and his grey eyes are bright. And he shakes his head, ruffled in the best way, mind lost to images of string and reflection, the hands upon his face and the heat of intimacy he's always hoped could exist.  
  


 


	26. b r a n d y

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

26.

 

b r a n d y

 

Where he'd thought dreams could be vivid before, he knows now that there is a greater range to that term than he'd ever expected. Because now that he's held Potter, slept by Potter, and woken to imprint the image of Harry's head next to his on the pillows, his dreams have taken an even bolder path, as if his sleeping mind is arguing with his waking one about what it _truly_ wants. What _he_ truly wants.  
  
Although much is still possibly impossible to know whilst some appears within his reaching grasp, he is aware now of something just as important as the open fantasy of trust and sex.  
  
He wants  _intimacy_. Intimacy he never had with Astoria, never let himself have beyond the rare moments they'd share over dinners; intimacy that he'd never seen growing up with his family and was never sure how to employ. And though Harry, based on behavior alone, seems to desire something similar in their unnamed bond, Draco debates as he always does.

Two days later he mulls over the slightly unnerving images of intimate relaxation with Harry, of more mornings spent staring at one another quietly in bed, of homey dinners shared with matching smirks and kisses warmed by a nearby fire. The ache they inspire flows through him as he browses about for some supplies Scorpius has asked him to send—additional quills, ink, and some of his favorite sweets alongside some longer trousers as he claims to have grown over the first bit of autumn. Draco makes his selections, half-listening to shop keeps and customers barking at one another, and he stands in line for the homework items with his head tilted to the side in thought.  
  
Draco shuffles up the line, masking his impatience with a bored expression not matching his internal mixture of curiosity and habitual dread. He pays his sickles and moves on to the tailor, sensing the shared intimacy with Harry that has started to plant inside of him taking root deep, deep down with each successive thought he has. The string between them is pulling with less of a yank and more of a gentle tug, and he wonders if it's because he's let himself feel anything at all over September's emotional days.

He crosses off every item on his list and carries the bags with him to his last appointment with his business associate. What money he'd taken with his inheritance he'd split between fixing the house, paying for life's needs, and a fund he'd started in a separate account for Scorpius's future. Anything left over he invested _wisely_. No outlandish ventures or start ups that he didn't trust, and nothing that if dug up would look nefarious.

Half an hour later, the meeting draws to its usual predictable close of little changes to the status quo. Draco leaves the office and pauses, distracted by the clock on the wall. He smiles as he remembers the little game of appointment times he'd played with Potter, and it's as he's moving away still thinking of the memory's satisfaction from watching Harry's past confusion that he sees her coming.

Ginny Potter briskly walks down the hall near him, freezing when she sees him as well.

The smile falls from his face. She stares at him with frustration and anger and something else he's not quite sure about, but she does _not_ look at him with the disgust he'd expected.

Draco holds the elevator for her out of reflex and complete uncertainty of what protocol is when one wants to kiss and hold and fuck a woman's recent ex-husband.

The doors close, of course, with the just two of them inside. Draco stares with unwavering focus upon the light as it changes floors while Ginny stands beside him equally silent. It's awkward. It's painful. And he imagines she wants as far away from him as he does her.

Just before the light for his floor, one above hers, hits, she slams her hand upon the hold button.

The elevator jerks, shudders to a halt, and floats waiting for its order to resume.

Breath inhales tightly at his side. And when he chances to look, to see if that disgust is finally on her face, his mouth parts. For it isn't. There are tears in her eyes, teeth over her lower lip, and a tight expression of acceptance instead.

They stare at one another for a few seconds that feel stretched into hours.

He refuses to speak first. Draco honestly has nothing to say because there's nothing he really can. It is what it is. It looks how it looks. And even if the future is still open and not sold on some idea of a thing between he and Potter, to the woman next to him it might as well have already been bought and paid for years ago, and it could only seem as if he's come to cash his savings.

It angers him, that impression. And it angers him that there's little he can say that might be believed to prove it wrong.

“I always had a feeling,” she says, voice tight in the little space. “Between his obsession with you at times, your own _clear_ desperation for his attention, and that...that final fight....”

His jaw locks. His pale skin flushes with a hint of anger. And he refuses to blink away the daring expression in his eyes.

Ginny shakes her head. “I told myself I was wrong then—that you'd just grown a conscience and that was that. I told myself those tears on your face before you screamed for him were just exhaustion and the emotional war tearing us all apart. But I knew. I saw it that day.”

“Saw what?” he asks, voice deceptively soft and calm. He stands, coiled, not unlike the snake with its hint of rattle before it strikes in defense.

She stands closer, long red hair cascading down her shoulder as she looks up at him fearlessly. “I wasn't the only one in love with him, was I, Malfoy?”

Pointless to deny her the truth she saw so well. Pointless to pretend now when Harry's likely said some things, too.

“No,” he murmurs with a cold sneer. “You _weren't_.”

“So I have only _one_ question for you.”

“If you _must_.”

Ginny glares angrily. “Oh, I think you _owe_ me answers if I want them. He was still with _me_ when you shared that kiss he spoke of. No matter your reasons then, even if you hadn't even _meant_ for it to happen, it did. And now...? Now you get what you want. So you _will_ answer me, and you _will_ do it to the fullest that you can and without any lies or rudeness.”

Draco counts the seconds in his head, wondering when an emergency alarm might go off in the elevator with it continuing to stall. Maybe if he's lucky some fat old wizard a floor below them is smashing the retrieval button for him.

Her strength that Harry's mentioned, that lots of people have in the papers in her playing over the years, is bare before him: She is in pain, in _agony_ , and yet she isn't...part of it is already gone, already walled away over the past year. He can absolutely respect it. And he does.

His sneer falters, his face softens, and her steady eyes watch it happen.

“What's the question?” he asks quietly, more than ready to get the fuck out of there.

Ginny exhales, centers, and focuses upon him fiercely. “Do you _still_ love him?”

Draco swallows harshly. His inner snake emotional self lowers its warning rattle just enough. His eyes are hot, his face is flushed, and his throat aches as he speaks. “Yes,” he answers honestly, heart pounding in his chest, speaking the defining words with equally defining emotion. “I do.”

“Then don't be a coward,” Ginny murmurs, slaps the release button, and turns away, her hand shaking at her side. “Take what's offered when you're both ready, and don't be stubborn. The two of you were stubborn enough to be silent for years, and though I'm thankful for that time and my children, I'm not heartless. I'm not blind. And what's between you two isn't...isn't about me at all, and as a _mature_ adult, I can accept that. I can accept his reasons if I want him to accept my own for letting go. Doesn't mean I'll be happy to see you—not now, maybe not ever."

Silence. Stunned, grateful, openly shocked understanding silence accentuated by his wide eyes and parted lips.

Draco finally nods, mumbling awkwardly, "For the record, I told him not to be stupid and leave, and when he said he had to anyway, that you wanted out as well, then I supported him as a friend the best I could. I know what people think of me. I can imagine what _you_ have. But I am not _heartless_ either. Selfish, perhaps, but not heartless."

Her eyes look to him with something calmer. Something almost like respect.

The elevator settles, the doors open to a thankfully momentarily empty foreground, and Ginny's last words haunt him as he exits quickly.

“I've only ever wanted to see him have an easier, happier life than the one he knew,” she whispers exhaustedly behind him. “And it wasn't until recently that I noticed how I've never made him smile like he does when he talks about you. He loves you, too, you enormous idiot, so _don't_ mess it up. Go slow for both your sakes.”

Draco stumbles, as if physically hit by the words, and he spins, watching the metal screen close and the elevator take her away, down another floor. He spins, watching Ginny Potter finally break as she cries by herself with the strangest, most relieved smile he's ever fucking seen.

 

 


	27. b e a u _ b l u e

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday/Unbirthday to you. Three chapter update. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

  
  
  
  
27.

 

b e a u    b l u e

 

  
The first week of October blows in with a cool wind and a bit of rain. It splashes the windows, dances through the occasional blinding flash of lightning, and even shakes the house with its pride of thunder. The jolting three-day-drenching merely feels like an extension of his mind, of his inner world, to the point he's moved past the echo chamber and into full anxious exciting incubation.

Ginny's last words are all he can think about: that Harry loves him, too, and that he makes Potter smile in a way she never could. It's almost hard to believe such a declaration, even coming from _Her_. Because love...love is a concept he'd once seen as weak, taught so early on by his dutiful Pureblood father. A concept he barely understands, only having few examples to go by. The possibility burns him, soothes him, like fire and ice meeting in the middle shaping the crystal inside into something hopeful, but scared. Wanting, but hesitant.

As though he's reverted back into the teenager watching Potter from the sidelines and tossing out bait to engage the Chosen One, now he sits stewing in the house while it rains, wondering what bait to throw out this time to hook his fish the way he used to...to hook Potter the way Potter has long snagged him. His instincts know Ginny wouldn't lie to him over such a thing, but he still _needs_ to know for that kid inside of him—for the adult long since ready.

His fingers toy with a new purchase for his desk, a large circular pinkish moonstone, shaped for its namesake. The pulse of the stone strums under his touch, and he rests it back upon its new mahogany stand, exhaling loudly in the silent house.

The large grandfather clock in the hall ticks as it always has, marking each wasted second of his life until finally, in this moment of need to know and desperation Draco shoves away from his desk, grabs for his dark green jumper and slides it over his thin shirt, looking presentable with his dark trousers and white collar.

He stands before the Floo, nervous and arguing with himself mentally. Because what exactly is he expecting to do? Stroll into Potter's flat asking if the Gryffindor wants more than something mutually beneficial? Not like he can stand right in front of the idiot and ask him point blank, _Potter, do you love me? Do you really want me? Would you fight my doubts to have me?_ How fucking ridiculous. The man's in limbo in divorce and hardly needing anything more.

Fingers drop the Floo powder he'd grabbed for, and the clock ticks again, echoing in his ears and confirming the isolation he knows all too well.

Trembling, he swipes for the silver sand and throws it into the flames, calling out the Ollivanders flat before he can stop himself. As he walks through the green, he imagines emerging out into an empty flat. It's Saturday evening, but Potter works odd shifts with his job, and he's not had an owl since Tuesday alerting Draco that Harry was dealing with a serious case all week.

Relieved at that possibility, that he could slink back without being caught in his foolishness, Draco steps through the process and out into chaos.

James Potter shouts something almost nonsensical to Draco's hearing before slamming a door, and Harry stands halfway in the living room, angled to look down the hall of bedrooms.

Harry is crying without making a sound. He's shaking so badly that Draco can _see_ it in the partial dark of the room. The sob catches with a hitch in Potter's throat before he buries his face in his hands and storms through the living room, aiming to loop back into the kitchen.

He pauses instinctively when Draco inhales, the sound loud in the wake of the slammed door.

Draco doesn't blink as Potter lifts his dark head, green eyes round in shock behind his glasses to see him standing nearby. They stare at one another, Potter trying to understand what he's seeing and Draco feeling guilty as fuck.

But instead of anger at the intrusion or discomfort at imagining Draco to no doubt have heard part of the event, Potter's eyes break wet with relief at seeing him before Harry stumbles forward, reaching to take Draco by the arms.

“Draco, I...sorry, I didn't expect...is everything all right?” Potter asks quietly, looking him over as though he's been injured.

Draco watches him do it, partially astounded. Even entirely bare and broken hearted in worry, Harry Potter tries to help someone with what little he has left to give, using it to right himself in the eye of the storm.

Draco shakes off the disappointment at being able to retreat, the bizarre idea he had of asking Harry such stupid questions, and instead he glances past Potter's shoulders once to be sure no one's looking before taking Harry's hand and squeezing it with what he hopes is comfort. “Ignore me. I'm fine. What's going on?”

“B-Brought the boys home last night. They stayed at the house while we talked. We had a silent family dinner following a lot of fighting, and they went to their rooms after, so Ginny and I figured it was best to give them some space for the night. Brought them here after breakfast. I _know_ they're overwhelmed. Al isn't speaking, James is angry and arguing, and Lily's caught between them trying to decide her feelings, too. She's at least had some time to already know and be in both places.”

Draco just stares at him, seeing the pain there in Harry's eyes and the fear of losing the love of his children the exact way Draco has long feared losing what little closeness he has with his own son should he admit everything—that he was a fool, that he was an arrogant brat who got people killed, that he _tried_ to fix it...yet hid everything about himself in that worry.

“I tried, Draco,” Harry says, almost echoing his thoughts, turning away to face the windows in the room. “I won't give up on them, and I told them Ginny and I being apart doesn't mean we have stopped loving them. They'll always be our first priority. They'll always be our children. And we'll try to spend our own time with them now, keep having summer Sundays at the Burrow together, too. Not everything is changing, but...the shock is too rough. James thinks because...because _I left_ that I did something wrong to her. That I don't want to be a family. Fuck, I don't want to lose their trust in me, their love for me like this.”

“You won't _._ They'll still love you. They just get to be angry first, Potter,” Draco tells him, hoping it helps. Hoping he's right and can take his own advice. He tugs Harry's hand, not liking being in the open near that hallway. Potter follows him into the kitchen as Draco leans against a counter. “You know that, Harry. Emotions are often irrational. _People_ are often irrational. Trust me, I've learned.”

Potter still shakes heavily before him. “I-I know.”

Draco opens his arms instinctively, wrapping them about Harry's vulnerability that he used to hate knowing existed years ago. “Take a moment. Compose yourself, Potter. You need...you need to react, but they need you to be put together, too.”

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs and buries his face in Draco's throat, sliding his arms around Draco's lower back. He feels Potter breathe him in intentionally and sigh as if centering, though those shakes don't stop. “Merlin, I don't know how you managed to time that perfectly, but I'm grateful. Thank you, Draco.”

“It's fine,” Draco mumbles, embarrassed thinking what Potter might otherwise feel if he'd known the rather selfish intentions that had spurred his feet through the Floo.

“I know I've been going through a lot lately, but it doesn't mean what you're undergoing isn't worth my time. I worry about you, Draco,” Harry whispers below his chin. “I've worried since the funeral. I don't like you being so alone, not unless I know you're okay. So...is everything all right?”

Draco's cheeks flush. “Just...had a stupid question. Nothing important.”

“Oh, what?”

“Don't worry about it.”

“Well, if you're sure.”

“Positive,” he grunts, feeling absurd and useless. But his arms stay firmly wrapped around the Gryffindor snuggling into him against the counter. “When are they going back?”

“M-Morning. We're taking special portkey.”

“I'll be home,” Draco says, cheeks growing rosy warm. “If...you....”

“Thank you. I'm sorry about this. I swear I'm not meaning to throw all my crap at you.”

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco chastises softly into Harry's ear. “I'll tell you when I've enough.”

Harry leans back, looking up at him with a smile that wasn't there moments ago. The shakes are still continuing though, and Potter glances about himself, watching them happen. “Am...I having a...?”

“I...did this a few times, back before Astoria and I wed,” Draco admits quietly, grey eyes open. “She thought I'd made the anxiety internal or something of the sort. Got to the...the point where I hardly noticed I was upset unless I was twitching.”

“Oh. Sounds terrible.”

“It was.”

Potter rests his brow to Draco's jaw and sighs. “I hear we're just too alike. That that's the problem. He's like me, and I'm like my dad. So we're arguing.”

Draco snorts with a gentle version of his usual eye roll. “Got your stubbornness, I'm sure. But I'd wager something else. Something easier to understand. Think of this, Potter—this is his first sense of what loss feels like. He wasn't alive in the War, wasn't even a thought or hope. He grew up with his parents where you didn't. This is his loss, and he's struggling. He'll learn, he'll cope, and he'll have more. It's not...not even a bad thing, in that regard. Could be far worse, couldn't it?”

The kitchen goes quiet as Harry looks up at him, the brain in that marvelous head of his putting the words together in his upset. And then Harry slowly stops shaking and views Draco like he's a wonder, like he's something beautifully magical and unreal.

“You...are brilliant.”

“I know.”

“I mean it. You are fucking brilliant, you clever snake,” Harry whispers, sounding much lighter. “Fuck, Draco, _thank you_.”

Draco smirks and tightens his arms around Harry, tugging Potter upon his toes. “You're _welcome_. From one...one terrified father to another.”

He quickly looks through the doorway, then bends and presses his mouth to the one turned up waiting for him. Harry's hands slide higher up his back, fingers digging into the jumper for grip as lips part and Draco's tongue briefly dances for a taste. He retreats, worried about the slightest creak of wood in the flat, but kisses Potter's brow, kisses that scar marking him all his life and branding him without mercy.

Harry breathes beneath him, deep and strong. “The kids will be okay. I know I have to give them time. I'll be better when they are. Doesn't mean you're not important to me, too, as a friend or anything else. I can't tell you how much it's meant to have you there for me lately, and I asked you a while ago to let me give back. So do it, Malfoy. Accept me, and swallow your pride.”

“Isn't my pride I'm swallowing, Potter.”

“Then what?”

Draco rubs down Harry's back, slips his hands around Harry's arms, and catches the wrists from around him to hold between them. Grey eyes observe them, notice the difference in color and shape as he shrugs, uncertain all over again. His mind replays Ginny's not so subtle calling out of their avoidance, and he grimaces. “Other things. Things that _don't_ make me a bloody coward. Like rational concerns, or the fact that this terrifies me.”

“So...being open with me, letting me in is scary.”

“Being open _to_ you, yes. I'm not...good...at that with _anybody_ , let alone _you_.”

“You're not the only one terrified, you know. I'm afraid every day I don't hear from you that you've suddenly remembered who _I am_ and don't want anything to do with me anymore.”

“You sure seem confident enough,” Draco grumbles softly, still keeping the hush of their voices down. “And of course I remember who you are. I've never had the luxury of forgetting you, you bastard.”

“Good to know.” Harry laughs softly, and Draco smiles hearing it. “I have _no_ idea what I'm doing with you, Draco. I'm just winging everything, hoping it works...hoping you like it enough to stick around.”

“Liar,” Draco accuses, but his tone changes to something mildly flirtatious instead of annoyance. “You plotted it all out over the past months, haven't you? A massive attempt at seduction.”  
  
“No, actually. Just...did what felt natural. Like, ah...like this,” Potter bumbles and stutters out the question with rosy cheeks and curious green eyes. “I've been thinking about, um...if maybe...well. W-Would you like to...have dinner?”

“We've had soup. Remember?”

“Not that kind. A...date...type.”

“What?” Draco asks, eyes wide.

Harry glances away, bashful a second before shaking it off and staring him right in the face. “I asked if you'd...y'know. Go on a...date. With me.”

Draco blinks very dry eyes. “A...date?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“As in something with dinner and probably candles and ridiculous romantic flowers in a vase?”

“Possibly,” Harry answers, sounding sheepish.

Draco swallows, thoughts rushing at him as Harry's right hand slowly touches his before moving to rest on his left hip in a bold claim. “What for?”

“'Cause. That's what you do when you lo—when you fancy someone a lot.”

His cheeks flush instantly, mind focusing intensely on the little slip.

“You...want to...go on one?” Draco mumbles, inhaling Potter's reassuring scent of woods and heat to combat the fact that he _knows_ Harry can feel his pulse racing as Potter rubs his thumb over Draco's right wrist.

“Yeah,” Harry replies, glancing downward, “but not if you don't. I told you before I don't want to pressure you.”

“But it would be a...date with _me_.”

“That _would_ be the point, yes.”

“Me, Potter.”

“Yep.”

Draco draws on his Malfoy-bred ability and adjusts his stance, both of them silent a moment when one of the children opens a door, steps to the loo, and shuts its door. Draco searches the man before him, the man he's _pined_ over for so long. He decides to be honest. “Harry, I don't think it's a good idea. Not because...not because I'm not interested, but because of _everyone else_. I don't need someone else telling Scorpius about me. That _has_ to come from me.”

“Of course. It'd be private, silly.”

“How so?”

“Like, I'd cook for us. Or arrange something elsewhere. I _know_ you need privacy, and I do, too, for a while yet. Hell, my divorce isn't even public, just on records at work...though that won't be long,” Harry admits softly, eyes calm and happy like they often are around _him_ now. “Anyway, just so you know...if things go well...if we'd get there and be ready, I'd be fine being out in the open. I'd never be ashamed of this—of us or you.”

Draco gives him a tiny smile. “Romantic sod. You're mad, you know that, right? You're a fucking nutter thinking we could waltz through Diagon Alley hand in hand or kissing farewells. Imagine the people dying in the street from shock.”

Harry outright grins. “Yeah.”

“You're ridiculous, but I'll...I'll consider it, Potter. No promises,” Draco sighs, watching Harry for signs of disappointment.

But Harry is only understanding with another smile of his. “Okay. I'll see if you're up to it next week. Say Tuesday, seven, here?”

“Hm.”

“Tell you what. I'll arrange it, and you can come through if you want to. Stay home if not.”

Draco arches a brow. “Tempting to leave you sitting alone for the image that makes.”

He expects a retaliation of some kind, a name, a huff, anything but a quick moving of Potter's palm from his hip to his bum lightly smacking him. Draco's mouth gapes, his body happily stunned at the feeling of the hand daring to grab him.

And Potter just grins. “Sure, Malfoy. But _you_ would miss out, too.”

Draco smirks, pecking Harry's lips once. He snickers as Harry laughs softly under his breath, letting him go for them to check the living room from the doorway as whichever child used the toilet heads back to their room quietly, shutting another door.

“I'm gonna go see if they're hungry yet. Sit with them some more. Keep _trying_. You...just think about Tuesday.”

“Fine,” he grunts by the Floo as he prepares it. He bends slightly once to whisper intimately into Harry's ear, “But only because it's hot when you beg.”

“Arsehole,” Potter smirks when he draws back.

“Potter,” Draco says in farewell, laughs as Harry's eyes roll, and steps quickly into the Floo with its _whoosh_ whisking him home.  
  
Although he'll worry about Harry with the children, at least one item has ticked off his list: He didn't have to ask any stupid question to know his answer, not when all he had to do was wait, like always, for Potter to give himself away.  
  


 


	28. c h a r m

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday/Unbirthday to you. Three chapter update. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

28.

 

c h a r m

 

He wakes early, tea and a scone in the garden with the rain taking its break finally over the night. Swings along, legs stretching and folding, nervous and hoping. Flowers have faded out some, though certain ones still bloom nearby, and the ivy has gripped more of the house behind him, protecting instead of suffocating and anchoring instead of swallowing.

The blanket of accepted normalcy, of others' definitions of success and failure, has been slipping more and more over his head the last while, and with each new day he peeks out more from under it, hoping that by slowly adjusting that he will be less blinded to the light of possibility, to the bright and pleasant cacophony of rainbow outside the blanket of nothing but shades of grey.

When the Floo activates, when he hears it through the opened window behind him, Draco pushes off the swing and walks briskly inside; his nerves strum a little as he hopes Potter had a better night and morning with the children, with the boys especially before sending them back to Hogwarts.

He enters the house, saucer and cup in hand still, moving for the kitchen with a called out, “In here, Potter.”

“Potter?” Pansy asks behind him in the kitchen doorway. “My, Draco, what are _you_ expecting this morning?”

Draco almost drops the teacup into the sink basin, then grits his teeth. “None of your business. Now shoo.”

“No, no, I must hear what Potter's been up to. You've avoiding talking more about that side of your life recently, which can _only_ mean there's been developments,” Pansy insists, sliding to stand near him with an impish Slytherin smile. “Share, Draco. Share, share.”

“Not my place to share nor my business to discuss,” he states with a firm look, hoping she'll get the point. “I've just been...listening lately, is all. He's enduring enough.”

Pansy nods readily, crossing her arms over her handsome navy blazer and white blouse. “So I imagine. Word's getting around the Ministry that he filed paperwork changes. It'll be press soon enough, and women will be following him everywhere. Perhaps men _and_ women. Up for the competition, Draco?”

Draco sneers and hands her a clean cup. “As if I would need to compete with such rubbish. There's not a competition to be had, Pansy. And he's not some...some toy to fight over, anyway. I'm not wanting something for a power play.”

“Just teasing, Draco. So defensive,” she smiles, waiting on fresh water to boil. “Are things well, then?”

“Enough, I suppose. Even so, I just....”

“Stop fighting yourself, you idiot.”

“Shove off, Pansy. Critique your _own_ love life, when you get one. It's more complicated than I imagined. Things with Astoria were complex, but _easy_.”

“Hey. I've had my fun. But that's the thing, darling—I take what I want with everything up front, and leave when I'm done with it. Not my fault if they fall in love beyond accepted terms.”

“So cold,” he snickers and eyes the kettle. “Sure you want this heated? Perhaps you'd prefer some _ice_ in your tea.”

“You're just jealous because I kept that ability and you didn't.”

“I can be a selfish prick if I want to be,” Draco argues, standing straighter and looking her down. “Angered you well enough in school.”

“Yeah, because you were obsessed with _Potter_ and not me,” Pansy agrees readily, flicking at his sleeved forearm. “But you also have a son. I have no children, no commitments or reasons to be a role model. I'll spare you for _that_ because I love my godson.”

“You mean your minimally friendly nephew.”

She laughs, long dark hair falling back over her shoulders. “Still not sold on letting me be a godparent, I see. Well, perhaps someday.”

The Floo activates again, and both of them hear it, turning to glance through the doorway. Before Draco can even stop her, Pansy is running in her heels into the dining hall and toward the living room in excitement.

“Brat,” he snaps and strides after her.

He's unable to intercept her when he enters the room, eyes checking Potter's tired form for any serious concerns. His uniform is pressed and nice as usual, the green eyes seem heavy, but clear, and his thin lips are in a tight, uncertain line as Pansy Parkinson greets him with a loud, cheery, “Well, if it isn't _Harry Potter_.”

“Parkinson,” Harry greets her in return with a hint of a glare.

“Harry,” Draco calls, catching Potter's attention. “Come. The study.”

“What? I can't say hello? Where are your _manners_ , Draco Malfoy?” Pansy teases, shifting her weight on each heel. “It's been so _long_ , after all, and the two of you are so _close_ now.”

“Get the kettle, you pest,” Draco grunts and jerks his head at the whistle from the kitchen.

Pansy sighs dramatically, but winks once at he and Potter both. “Oh, fine. Don't forget to say _bye_ , Potter.”

Harry looks tied between wanting to sneer and also possibly laugh, probably uncertain as just _how_ to take Pansy's behavior. Draco ignores the sounds of her cackles as she strides back through the dining hall, and he tugs Harry by the wrist into the study and shuts the door.

He looks Harry over again, heart fluttering in his chest when Potter closes the space between them and just goes for it, wraps his arms around Draco's neck and holds tight, their heads pressing together.

“Go all right?” Draco whispers gently, hands over Potter's lower back.

“Yeah. Al finally talked a little over dinner about a project he and Scorpius are working on for their Transfiguration class, and Lily accidentally spilled gravy. We all had a laugh. Ended up having to get some dinner from The Leaky Cauldron since it just went everywhere over the table,” Harry recounts, chuckling softly against him. “And...James this morning, when we went to leave Hogwarts after escorting them there, he didn't want to hug me at first or say much at all after he was still angry going to bed. But I turned away with Ginny, and suddenly there he was, grabbing my arm and yelling at me again. 'Don't go,' he shouted at me. So I...I kissed his head and held him and cried with him and promised him I wasn't going _anywhere_ out of his life.”

Draco closes his eyes, relieved even without it being his child. He pulls Harry tighter to him, kisses the side of Harry's temple. “Good, Potter.”

“It helped. It helped so much. I know it's still going to be a bit of a rough patch for a while, and I told him I understood that—that it was okay to be angry—and he promised to write me, to keep talking about it. Al promised, too. He'll have Scorpius and Rose to lean on at school, and James will have his friends as well.”

“Must feel relieving.”

“More than you could imagine, Draco.”

Draco smiles to himself. “Nothing's ever perfect, but things can...ease, sometimes, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees and slides back, flicking his eyes over Draco's face once before kissing him hotly. “I have to go to work. But I just wanted to let you know.”

“Fine. About...her,” Draco mumbles as Pansy starts humming obscenely loud in the living room to remind them of her presence. “She just Floos in sometimes to annoy me. Her stupid way of showing she...cares.”

Harry licks his lip and brushes a thumb along Draco's jaw. “Well, if she does care about you, then I guess I'll put up with her. Bless your hearing.”

Pansy hits a new high note with a loud _la_ , and Draco rolls his eyes.

They exit the study and find her sitting along the white sofa, her tea resting on the table nearby. Pansy grins up at them, hands clasping around her bent knees. “Have you done whatever you needed to _do_ , Draco?”

“Stuff your face a moment,” he snipes, lifting the lid off a tin on another table and throwing a biscuit at her. “Give me some bloody peace.”

“All you have is bloody peace. You need some _action_ ,” Pansy heavily insinuates, turning to focus right on Harry with the word. “Some loud sexy disruptions of _life_ and living!”

Harry's brow rises. Draco flushes.

Something changes Harry's expression of discomfort into one of humor, and he softly mutters, “He has to show up first.”

“To _what_ , exactly?” Pansy asks, large dark eyes round with excitement.

“A date I'm planning this week. He knows when and where.”

Draco glares at Harry, fully debating now if he should wait an hour before Flooing in Tuesday night and walking right back through to show how much this annoys him.

Pansy pushes to stand and tugs on Draco's arm. “You prat. You didn't _say_ you had a _date_ already!”

“Shut _up_ , nosy hag.”

“Ooh, so where is it?”

“Just my flat,” Harry says with a shrug. “Something small. Private.”

“I'll say,” Pansy winks at Draco. “Sounds _very intimate_ , Draco.”

Draco sneers her down and gives her a shove, telling her to get away. He curls his lip at Harry in mock disgust. “Congratulations, Potter. You can enjoy the date alone.”

“Don't be _silly_ , Draco, you _have_ to go. I have to know what happens.”

“Shush, you.”

Harry steps over to him, smiles, and kisses him briefly right in front of Pansy Parkinson. Green eyes glitter at him with amusement when Harry whispers, “See you Tuesday,” and he grabs for the powder, calling out a collective farewell to the two Slytherins watching him go.

“Potter,” Pansy says right before Harry steps through and looks back. Her voice is suddenly not cheery, not falsely dramatic or annoying at all. It's dark, deadly, and serious. “Treat him _well_ , Potter. You don't, you toy with him or you hurt him, and I will _hurt you_.”

Harry looks to Draco once. Smiles to himself. And then he nods and vanishes.

Draco watches Pansy with something softer in his gaze than usual. As soon as the Floo calms, Pansy snags him by the elbow and drags him forcibly toward his bedroom.

“Let _go_ , you brute of a woman!” he snaps, thoroughly embarrassed, softness in him gone.

“Not a fucking chance, Draco. We're planning that outfit _right now_.”

Draco's shoved to his bed when they enter the room, watching his life-long friend immediately raid his armoire and closet, throwing out suits and jackets and silky shirts to try together.

She doesn't see him collapse back in nervous frustration. But she does tell him to grow up—that it's time to experience something for a change.

“I'm not about to let my best friend be a virgin his whole life.”

“I'm _not_ a virgin.”

“In this you are, and this is where it counts!”

“It's too _soon_ , you idiot,” Draco shouts and throws a pillow that banks off of her head. It hardly interrupts her investigation of his wrist cuffs and ties. “It's far too soon.”

Pansy pauses then for a moment, two ties in her hands. “Merlin, Draco, you don't have to bend over Tuesday, just get your hands down his trousers. Trust me, he _wants_ you to, and going by that _kiss_ in there, he's debating how fast he can get into yours, too.”

“It isn't like that. It's more than that,” he insists uncomfortably.

“I know, darling. Merlin knows I'd have already packed my trunk and moved far away if I were you,” she admits, tossing a black tie at the pile on the bed over the dark blue one. “But you're both healthy adults, both _blokes_ , and boys are naughty. Something, no matter how small it might be, is likely to happen, and I want you to sail through it looking your absolute best. So sit there, shut up, and let me do this thing you never let me do. Let me help, Draco.”

Draco touches the black tie she'd tossed. Looks up at his friend staring at him with a quietness she rarely has and only last showed him around the funeral itself.

He glances back to the tie.

And with a smirk, throws it back at her. “No ties, then.”

“You _do_ have a nice throat. First buttons open, even better, I _agree_ ,” she grins, smiling her usual kind. But her dark eyes are appreciative of his understanding, and even more appreciative of not calling her out on her love of him. “So, I'm thinking that white button down over there with _these_ trousers, since your bum always looks so damn good in them. Add _this...._ ”

She trails off, mumbling to herself more so than him, and Draco falls back upon the bed again, smiling to himself in faith that his friend will throw together some ensemble designed to knock poor, unsuspecting Harry Potter off of his unwavering feet.

 

 

 


	29. i r r e s i s t i b l e

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday/Unbirthday to you. Three chapter update. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy the _hot_ delivery. ;)

 

 

29.

 

 i r r e s i s t i b l e

 

 

It's six-thirty, and he's pacing before the Floo entirely nervous.

It's six-forty, and he's pacing before the Floo wondering if being late really _is_ fashionable.

It's six-forty-five, and he's easily believing that yes, of course it is, what is he worrying about, he'll just be a little late. Won't that be funny, anyway.

Six-fifty, and he shivers without being cold, hands brushing invisible lint from his handsome blood-red vest over the white shirt with the few top buttons parted to expose the line of his throat. His trousers, though Pureblood in style that his father would approve of, are leaner, tighter to him in a newer fashion adopted recently into his tailor's shop from a new apprentice who was Muggle-born. His shoes are handsomely styled and tapered with his foot. He's even shaved today, curious as to what the difference might bring with it _meaning_ something this time.

Six-fifty-five, and he's grateful that Pansy agreed on forgoing the tie. At this point it would have merely choked him, left him faint upon the rug for Potter to no doubt find when he'd come snooping later in concern and rejection.

The clock ticks each second of the remaining five minutes, and Draco exhales, steeling his nerves. For Pansy was also right about something else Sunday when she forced the outfits on him, one after another all damn day: He has nothing to worry about. He's Draco Malfoy, and Potter _wants_ him for it.

“Have some swagger. Own your charm. Seduce the bastard,” she'd chanted, eyes glossy like a predatory cat's. “And Wednesday, whenever you're _home_ again, you send that pretty owl _immediately_ , Draco, or I'll come screaming from work.”

Bit of an assumption, he wagers, but he can't deny that there is _some_ feeling in his gut that something _will_ happen tonight. And that makes him all the more riled, coiled like the cogs in the clock as each minute hand passes almost excruciatingly slow while being simultaneously far, far too fast.

Seven chimes, long and clear.

He moves before the Floo. Hopes to _fuck_ that this doesn't blow up in his face. And steps through the flames of green with held breath, ready to pretend that he's completely unbothered by anything and watch Potter be flustered all evening.

But he walks out into a flat that has been changed. Instead of the morose, fearful environment of a few nights ago, it is now soft and warm, bedecked with romance the way one would deck Christmas halls. Candles float everywhere, the table is dressed simply with a vase of red fucking roses, and there's soft music playing from a hidden record somewhere.

It's absurdly romantic. Horrendously so.

And when Harry walks out of the kitchen with a gigantic grin, Draco calls him on it without hesitation. “Couldn't just leave it be, could you, idiot? Had to go and make it a challenge.”

“What? I said it'd possibly be romantic with dinner and candles and flowers, just like you said,” Harry teases, then pauses to look him over from head-to-toe with a slow, sensual gaze of appreciation. Potter's teeth gnash over his lower lip before he sucks at the flesh, and a spark of heat shoots through Draco's body seeing it.

Draco does the same, loving the tight Muggle-styled dress trousers and the red silky button down Potter no doubt kept in his closet for something once a year to wear. It's far too nice for a person who wears things out so fast with his active life.

“Damn. You even shaved. I _like_ it,” Harry murmurs softly. Green eyes snap to his warmly. “You look better than dinner does.”

Draco grins. Pansy's work paid off. “I'd better.”

“Shut up and get in here,” Harry calls, going back into the kitchen.

Draco sniffs, ignoring the pleasant soft scents of the candles in the air to focus on the smell of dinner wafting near the table. It smells delicious, almost familiarly so, and Draco's eyes happily land on a _very_ nice choice of wine that Potter's set out in preparation.

“Sit,” Harry demands, walking out to be sure he does. He bends, winks, and kisses Draco's brow before making some space on the table. “I knew you'd either come right through or wait an hour just to annoy me first. I'd planned _two_ meals, just in case you tried the latter so I'd have something fresh ready.”

“I could always leave if you'd prefer to eat that one,” Draco drawls confidently, grey eyes amused. “Might be your favorite, hell if I know.”

“Then you'd miss _yours_ ,” Harry warns with a wink as he disappears again.

Draco frowns for a moment, not connecting the dots, until Potter reappears with a platter of beautifully cooked lamb. His heart speeds up staring at it while Harry moves in and out with a few side dishes he carefully arranges around their plates.

“Look all right?” Harry asks as he cuts into the meat for a serving to place on Draco's plate. “Never cooked lamb before, but I followed the recipe well, I think.”

Draco's eyes well up before he feels it happen, and Harry stops, looking horrified. Potter sets the cutting knife and fork down, cursing. “Damn it, I'm sorry. I didn't think. I just wanted to do something nice, and she'd included it in her letter, telling me it would make you happy to eat it again.”

“Harry,” Draco says and grabs Potter quickly by the forearm. His wet grey eyes hold Harry's firmly enough that the green doesn't even blink back at him. Draco swallows harshly before sighing and tugging Potter closer for a soft kiss. Their brows rub as he murmurs, “I should have expected. It's something so _her_ to do.”

Harry kisses him again gently. “I'm sorry. I've got that second meal I can pop in the cooker if you'd rather eat that.”

“This is fine, Harry. Sit,” Draco assures him with a little smile. “And let me handle the meat. You're butchering it.”

“Oh. Whoops.”

“Like this,” Draco says, demonstrating the cuts. “It's tender as it should be. So be tender with it.”

Harry blushes and scoops out some potatoes and sides for them both, waiting to sit until Draco has doled out meat for the pair of them. Draco pours the wine as well, topping it gently and sniffing his glass with a smile.

“I'll give you credit, Potter. This is more of an ensemble than I expected,” he admits, taking his first sip of the wine.

Harry smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, well. I know you don't like romantic things, and I plan to make you at least reconsider.”

“I don't _dislike_ them. I just don't...see the point, sometimes, I guess.”

“Never been romanced, have you?”

Draco rolls his eyes. “No. The most I have is when you would argue back with me and it would get heated enough for us to stare too closely in school.”

Harry frowns, then snickers. “Should have been a sign, huh.”

“It was for those of us _aware_ of ourselves,” Draco cleanly states, savoring the expression on Potter's face as much as he does his first bite of lamb. “Mm. You followed her directions well. When she got ill enough, I'd buy from a place in Diagon Alley, but I always preferred hers. She loved cooking. Refused to hire a cook when we first lived alone.”

“She must have remembered that I wasn't the greatest in Potions without help, because her directions were excessively simplistic,” Harry mumbles with a low laugh. “Kind of her, really.”

Draco chuckles.

The dinner passes quite amicably, quite enjoyably with the two of them taking turns talking about little things, little nothings, the weather and hopes for their children. Draco mentions the letter he received Monday afternoon from Scorpius telling him that Albus is still upset with the recent news, but he's seeming more or less himself. He'd asked Draco for advice because divorce isn't something his son has ever really known anything about.

Harry simply thanks him for helping however he has. “I worry about Al. So damn much.”

“Why, Harry?”

“He's just...I don't know. Softer. And I'm proud of him, but I wonder sometimes if he just...isn't proud of himself or doesn't like...you know. Being _my son_ ,” Harry softly admits as he downs some wine and clears his plate. “I know that's silly to say, but James and Lily are a lot more outspoken. They've got heavy bits of Ginny and I mixed together.”

Draco stares Harry down until Potter pauses, holding his glass from his lips to wait. “Harry, Albus is not only growing in your legacy's shadow, but he's doing so in a House so ill understood and disregarded for its greatness. He _should_ be proud of himself, and I know you are proud of him, yes. And so what if he's quieter, softer. It suits him—he's a clever boy, able to watch where others jump first. He'll be a good Slytherin.”

“I know. I agree.”

“Then what is it?”

Harry rubs his stubbled chin. “Honestly, I just want him to embrace himself, that's all.”

“Give him time. He's so young yet. Not everyone gets to have their destiny and identity chosen for them at birth, Potter.”

Harry flinches. “That was direct enough.”

“You expect less from me?” Draco asks, the first flutter of wariness hitting him.

“No,” Harry says, finishing his wine. Green eyes roam him happily. “I actually like that about you. No crap.”

“Yes. None, indeed.”

Harry removes their plates and food and brings out a palette cleansing dessert with more wine that Draco pours eagerly. Draco eyes the soft yellowy dessert with bits of fruit and a layer of soft sugar topping.

“What's this?” he asks, interested.

“ _Clafoutis_. Traditionally made with black cherries in France, but I like strawberries, myself. Something I tried once with the kids, and they loved it. It's...sort of like a flan, but not. Hard to describe. But very good.”

Draco raises his brows. “I'll give it a try, then.”

Potter hands him a small plate with a serving, and Draco cuts into it smoothly with his dessert fork, slipping the bite off the tines past his lips and closing his eyes appreciatively.

“Like it?” Harry asks softy across from him.

“Yes, actually. It is different, I agree. Not too sweet, either. And is that...almond?”

“Flavoring, yeah. Bit of an extra thing I like.”

Draco nods. “Good choice.”

They each have a second serving of dessert, laughing when both reach for the platter and server at the same time. And when they finish, each with a little bit more wine, Draco eyes the floating candles before he eyes Harry.

Harry's staring at him, glass to his lips, clearly thinking about something. And whatever it is sets Draco's chest aflame and sends electricity through his body, stirring his already partially hard cock more.

“Come with me,” Harry says, setting his glass down as he stands.

“Where?” Draco asks, sounding far more suspicious than he means to be.

Harry extends his hand and says nothing else.

Draco's pulse skyrockets, but he takes the firm fingers and leaves his glass behind as well, follows Potter's steps through the living room and into the hall of bedrooms. His heart pounds harshly as they near Potter's room, but then suddenly they veer slightly, and Harry yanks down a set of steps from the ceiling.

Draco eyes him curiously.

Harry smiles and tugs him up the small stairs, through an empty attic and out a hatch. Draco grumbles to himself, knowing Pansy is going to have a fit if she hears how many spiderwebs he just walked through in the outfit she'd chosen after _four hours_.

“Here,” Harry says, holding his hand as they stand near the back of the roof's side.

Draco looks out, seeing Diagon Alley's shops from a height he never had before. Oil lit lamps glow warm amber invitingly against the heavier blue above them with the passing of the darker clouds. Draco sees some movement, notices a group of younger witches strolling through the street coming near them from below, and steps back out of sight.

Harry snickers. “They can't see us.”

“Of course they can, Potter.”

“No, they can't. Walk out a little more and reach.”

Draco arches a brow, but does as Potter instructs, holding his free hand out. His fingers touch invisible magic that suddenly ripples, shows itself to be slightly silvery, and fades away again.

Harry smiles when he turns for an explanation. “'Mione got really good with protection charms when we were on the run. We had to set up area coverage together.”

“So...they can't see us,” Draco says, understanding as he watches the witches stroll by without stopping at all.

“Or hear us,” Harry murmurs closer, immediately behind his shoulder. Warm arms surround him, a handsome nose rubs against the back of his nape. “Look up.”

Draco does, watching the bit of clouds part enough to see the vastness beyond.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Harry questions, not really wanting an answer. “I come up here every night I can. Just...helps. I bet the view from your garden is more impressive, though.”

Draco nods. “It is. Should...see it sometime, Harry.”

“Maybe I will,” Harry whispers, lips to his shoulder pressing over fabric. “I'd love to.”

Draco angles his face to the left, glancing back at the mass of black hair hiding Harry's face from view as Potter presses more soft kisses to him.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles awkwardly, stepping back with red cheeks. His fingers are a bit sweaty weaved with Draco's. “You look so...so _hot_. You _are_ hot.”

Draco slowly smiles, something very seductive, and strangely enough, some of his nervousness just fades away. His free hand cups Potter's chin as he closes the distance again. “So are _you_. You've _always_ been handsome.”

Harry looks up at him with something so soft, so _grateful_ , as if he can't express how much it means to have been appreciated silently for so long...to have been wanted and beloved by someone he wouldn't have considered when he probably felt lower than anyone else could know.

“Even when I wanted to scream at you, I thought you were sexy,” Draco continues, bending closer. “Damn you, Potter. You were never just their Chosen One. You were _mine_.”

Harry snaps, moves within a blink. Draco rocks back on his heels from the force of the kiss, from Harry practically leaping at him with desperation. Mouths part, tongues touch, hands slide harshly and grab arms and sides and shirts.

Draco's heart pounds to a dance he's never really done before, just like Pansy said...but it is one he wants to perform, and it is one he knows by heart without ever having to learn.

They snog beneath the sky, the clouds of England lovingly breezing by. They snog above the glow of late shops and muted voices of witches and wizards never knowing the passion merely a rooftop away, passion that has a vest losing its buttons in a hurried rip—passion that has Potter stumbling backward onto a small nest of blankets he'd brought up earlier for them to sit upon.

Draco lands atop Harry, hand sliding down Harry's front to rest over his slim stomach. His other fingers fist in Potter's gorgeous wild hair, and he loves rather than hates every little bump of glasses to his face. Harry wraps an arm about Draco's neck, holding on while his other hand slides to Draco's lower back and grips there possessively.

Breath rushes between them, feeding the air and the bit of fog rolling in around them lit randomly by the lamps below, as if they snog together in a land of something wild and natural, of something so faery and primal with each little hint of amber witnessing.

Hands move. Potter's fingers go for the buttons of his shirt, gently this time compared to the brutish treatment of his vest, and Draco's do the same, undoing Harry's shirt buttons much faster with practice. He bends his face, pausing Harry's attempts, to lick up Harry's gorgeous throat. The moan in his ear is hot and heavy and begging, and Draco does it again, his brain rushing with only the thought that he's _doing this_ , that this is _Potter_ he's touching and kissing and lying with so wonderfully.

His tongue takes a trip south, over collarbones exposed by Potter throwing his head back more, and Draco kisses every bit of skin he sees, drags the tip of his nose through the patch of chest hair, and closes his lips briefly over a sienna nipple.

Harry bucks beneath him, wild and crying out with soft gasps of air and his name. _His name_.

“ _Draco_ ,” Harry breathes out as Draco kisses in the perfect center of Harry's chest.

Draco looks up, enamored with the sound of his name, enthralled with the hypnotic emeralds holding him captive now.

Harry swallows and finishes the buttons on Draco's shirt in silence, sliding his hot palm over Draco's now heated skin, exploring with teeth over his lower lip. Draco exhales, closes his eyes and hangs his head, _lets himself_ be touched and loved.

He doesn't think about the warning pulse in the back of his mind with each touch of Harry's fingers. He doesn't hear the words trying to get his attention. And so when Potter pushes him onto his back and kisses Draco's throat and stops everything, Draco is confused.

He opens his eyes. Sees Harry staring at his chest bared behind the partially shoved shirt sides.

Draco follows Harry's gaze downward, sees the silvery little scars across his torso, and the pulsing in his head finally breaks through, screaming.

Harry's mouth opens in shock, and some part of him retracts right there in the green eyes.

Draco's response is conditioned from years of hiding. He shoves Potter harshly away and yanks his shirt together, barely holding _himself_ together as the tears come hot and wet in his eyes. He turns to face another direction on the blankets, trying to redo his buttons and failing with slippery, shaking fingers and silent sobs wracking him.

And then he feels Him. He with His strong chest to Draco's back, He with His strong hands settling over Draco's trembling fingers, He with determination that parts the shirt open again for palms to rest over, fingers spreading out as wide as they can go.

Draco sits very still, shuddering slightly when the brow rests to the back of his head.

“I didn't know. And it haunted me more than most things from that time of my life,” Harry whispers quietly behind him. Potter's voice breaks a little, emotional and weary and wary and hopeful all the same as he continues, “I'm sorry, Draco. I'm _so sorry_.”

He rocks a little, tears breaking down his cheeks without permission, wetter than the mist of fog now washing over them.

For years he'd gotten used to them, the little scars. He hardly noticed them in mirrors or the shower or bath. They'd become simply a part of him, part of his skin, part of his past that he also tried not to notice anymore with each tick of that clock and each bit of thread that Fate kept unrolling in front of him, lulling and luring him away from the pain.

But now it feels fresh somehow. Now as Harry cries against him it feels raw.

“I'm so sorry,” Harry says again. “Why would you still help me after? Why?”

“Because,” Draco whispers, surprised he can even find the spit to speak. “I...I don't...know. I just did. I hated feeling right, that you weren't some perfect Golden Boy, some Gryffindor without fault. And I hated you for making me care anyway, for you _daring_ me in the Manor with that fucked up face of yours.”

Harry kisses the nape of his neck.

“Bastard,” Draco hisses, crying softly. “Even then, anything I did wasn't enough. Never could be. I'm me—a Malfoy and a Slytherin, and the rest of you hated me no matter what.”

“We were foolish kids, Draco. All of us.”

“Foolish,” he snorts, shaking his head. “And worse. So I have these marks. And I got what I deserved.”

“Hey,” Harry murmurs, kissing behind his ear. Draco swallows the lump in his throat, annoyed with himself for _somehow_ still being erect in his trousers. Harry's fingers slide around each scar, tracing them. “You _did not_ deserve these. _Ever_. And I _promise_ to prove that to you.”

“Whatever,” Draco huffs, nervous again and emotional. He pushes at Harry's arms around him, legs unfolding from being bent. “I should go.”

Harry holds him tightly, adjusts to kiss the side of his neck with open lips once, twice, thrice with tongue. “Breathe, Draco. You're beautiful and wonderful and everything annoyingly you, scars or no, I swear. These don't frighten me away, but they make me fear losing this moment.”

“I can't make them go away, Harry. Whatever you used...it never did let me,” Draco tells him, voice still sharp despite how soft his neck now feels with Harry's continued kisses upon it.

“You're you, and they've been part of you for so long. I won't turn them away, even if I'm sorry I made them,” Harry counters quietly. “Not how I imagined leaving my _mark_ on your beautiful skin.”

Draco's breath catches as one of the hands over his chest slides slowly down while the lips at his neck move up. “W-What...sort of...mark, then?”

He feels the smile to his throat before lips part over it and suck, before his back arches from Potter working over the spot there intently. Draco trembles, one hand holding Potter's left forearm, the other lying itself over the warm hand at his navel.

His throat is dry, his tongue like sandpaper. And Potter keeps sucking at his neck, and Draco's eyes close with something like peace.

His hand over Harry's guides them gently down, slowly enough that Potter could stop them at any second. Harry doesn't, though, just lets Draco lead the moment, and his heart pumps blood hotter and faster the closer they get to the tent of his trousers. He takes one big breath, feels Harry's lips lift from his skin, and decides, sliding their hands, Potter's palm down, right over his straining erection.

Harry gasps in his ear, exhales sexily and licks at his earlobe while fingers angle and cup over him, a thumb stroking along part of his shaft. Draco moans so quietly it's more felt than heard, more shared through their energy than expressed aloud. That string feels so heated about them when his hand lifts from Harry's, and Harry keeps working over him, bolder now with a twist to his wrist, pressing closer to his back to reach enough to hold as much of Draco as he can at once.

Draco moans again, this time with more sound, and turns his head, lips pressing to Potter's cheekbone. Harry turns as well, matching Draco's level, and Draco dominates the kiss between them as Harry cups and strokes him over the material, as Draco's mind blanks with the sensations of _right_ and _yes_ and _don't fucking stop_.

Harry adjusts behind him so his legs slide around Draco, and Draco feels the hardness against his bum and lower back, the cock he's dreamed about for years in fantasy. Almost overwhelmed with the sensation of being touched and the _knowledge_ bouncing around his soul in more excitement than he can handle, Draco lets go—relaxes into Harry, rests his head back to Potter's shoulder, lets Harry touch him with an easier angle.

“Fuck,” Harry grunts hotly and thumbs the hidden head of Draco's cock. “ _Mm_.”

Draco whines a little, hips barely able to thrust into Harry's hand.

Lips tease along his jaw as fingers lift briefly from his cock and settle on the button and zipper above. Within seconds his trousers are open, and Draco sucks in a breath. Harry sensually slides his hand under the silky pants beneath the trousers until he touches soft skin. Draco leans back more, spine melting while Potter takes hold of him properly. Harry strokes him tentatively at first, and Draco can barely see in the dimming light of the evening and fog when Harry's hand moves enough back down to bare part of Draco's cock from outside his pants, the bit of his blond patch of hair quite visible, too.

He watches, fascinated. Potter kisses his temple and sighs as he does with each touch, with each flex of Draco's abdomen and each slip of Harry's fingers over and under and all around the head of his cock sliding back down the shaft, occasionally straying longer to cup his balls, too.

It's like magic, raw and wild and untamed. A force that can be channeled, but never harnessed or collared. Each touch undoes him, unravels him with the string, and each breath builds him back up as his blood boils and rushes.

His moans are heavy. Hot. And Harry enjoys it all, groaning with him, kissing over his cheek, and whispering occasionally, “ _Yes_ , Draco.”

The ecstasy swells, crescendos into a mountain's peak, and Draco's voice rises with it both in tone and volume, his hands gripping Harry's arm and then the back of Harry's head, yanking Potter for a hot open mouthed kiss.

Fingers spread the wetness dripping from the head of his cock in a slow tease. Slick it back down his shaft and speed up just enough.

Draco breaks the kiss, voice hitching, chest catching, eyes clenching.

He comes in Potter's hand with a moan and a prayer, with Harry's name on his lips and the silent wish to let it not be a dream, to let it not be yet another fantasy he will wake from any second.

He shudders, feeling some cooler air now without so much heat driving through him. Harry gently traces around the head of his cock, sticky fingers and all, and kisses him, tongue mimicking his fingers.

Draco blinks finally when he can force his eyes open, eyes as grey as the fog now assuredly taking over Diagon Alley in a successful conquest. Harry's gaze is more sultry than Draco imagined it could be, more heady and seduced like his own. Lips press together, part, and press together again.

“Fuck, Harry,” Draco groans, finding his damn voice again. “I....”

“Hope that was everything you ever wanted it to be,” Harry murmurs knowingly, kisses his temple and gently tucks him back into his pants and trousers with the cool air growing even cooler now despite heating charms Potter no doubt added to his little secret bubble on the roof.

Draco's cheeks are red, his neck is flushed, and he doesn't give a fuck.

He's still too turned on.

With a deftly maneuvered shove, Potter goes backwards, chuckling when he hits the bunched up blankets. Draco rolls over, slings a leg over Potter's lap to straddle him, and kisses the Gryffindor of his life hard, right into part of the raised roof itself. Hands frame Potter's face, cradling it as though it were something infinitely precious.

Harry leans into the kiss, ruffles his dry fingers through Draco's soft hair and palms his head.

When he finally pulls back to let Harry breathe, Draco smirks down at the dazed Chosen One, watching Potter try to orient himself again with fluttering handsome lashes behind his glasses.

“Your turn,” Draco whispers seductively to Harry's ear. “And I will _break_ the limit of _your_ imagination, Potter.”

“I've no doubts,” Harry manages to say between sharp inhales.

Draco smiles the one that had come over him after masturbating not long ago, something Slytherin and _him_ in the youth he used to be. Harry grins lazily at it, apparently unafraid of the similarity.

His mouth distracts as desired, luring Harry with a game of chase as Harry keeps focused on his turning head and angling for more. Draco's fingers slide downward over Harry's chest, mesh into the hair across his sternum and grip around Harry's sides and ribs. Potter breathes harshly in his ear, sucking in air that makes Draco smile again and spread his thumbs across Harry's sensitive stomach that twitches away under the touches.

“Gorgeous,” Draco murmurs, looking at the bit of tanner skin below his hands. “Fucking gorgeous.”

“Glad you think so,” Harry replies, still seeming somewhat adorably dazed. “Whatever you say.”

Draco gives him a cocky sneer, hands moving back up the chest in his grip. “Exactly, _Potter_. Whatever _I_ say.”

He pauses long enough to lift his fingers to Harry's jaw, secures another long, tongue-driven kiss, and keeps Harry distracted with the wet muscle as his palms fall away slowly but surely to land over Harry's hips. It works as desired until he feels for the button and zipper of Harry's trousers, and then Harry shivers beneath him.

Green eyes slowly lift open in the _sexiest_ look Potter's ever given him. It's a challenge, it's a dare, it's every glare between them as teenagers manifesting into the next level of itself.

 _Will you?_ it asks him. _Will you do it?_

 _Fuck yes_ , his eyes answer back, fingers keeping his word.

Draco doesn't blink or look away from that gaze the entire time he unbuttons Harry's trousers and slides the zipper _painfully slowly_ down. Harry watches him with fire in his eyes, with something just a little dark and dangerous and yet loving all the same. His hips lift when Draco slides his palm clear across Potter's belly in a tease.

“Not nice,” Harry grunts and kisses his chin. “I was nice to you.”

Draco laughs, grinning white teeth in the bit of light they have left. “You know I'm not _nice_ , Harry. I'm cruel and selfish and terrible.”

“You _can_ be nice,” Potter argues, sounding a little less dazed with his incensed eyes flaring each time Draco hesitates to take the lowering touches even lower.

Grey eyes flick down to see the bulge demanding his attention between them.

Draco bends, kisses Harry long and hard, and withdraws with a smirk. “Only when you need it, Potter.”

And before Harry can retort something at him, Draco rolls his hips, brushing their clothed groins together. Harry gasps, dragging air into his lungs, eyes wide in shock as Draco does it again with a loud moan.

He feels himself still hard somehow despite his orgasm, and he pushes more, _loving_ each bite of friction between their covered cocks.

Just when Harry looks like he won't breathe again, Draco stops and snakes his hand down Harry's trousers. Floodgates open in his mind and soul with the first touch and bit of sound from Harry's voice syncing together. Draco's awareness expands widely, feeling almost universal as he focuses with unparalleled awe upon the thick cock in his hand, slowly testing out his grip around it and its length.

Potter arches backwards, gritting his teeth almost as if in torture. He exhales loudly, his hands resting over Draco's thighs digging in tightly.

Draco breathes out, hears each second of it extended like the sound of seduction itself, and he moves. He gets every feel he can, learns all of Harry's most intimate area from his round shaft to the head and back down to his heavy sac. It's all smooth with a hint of vein, nestled with a patch of black curls brushing in contrast.

Potter loses his fucking mind. Forgets to breathe, then gulps in air. Gasps and cries out Draco's name as Draco stops internally freaking out over holding Potter's cock in his hand and goes for it, enacting every dream and every fantasy of this that he can.

“Oh my God,” Harry calls, voice hoarse. “Oh my _God_.”

The intensity is in the air, in the spelled space around them. It circulates and undulates the way Draco's fingers do about Potter's groin, sensually presses against them when Draco licks the sweat from Harry's throat and rubs his thumb mercilessly under the head of Harry's cock over and over.

Draco's hips thrust instinctively, pressing his own reinvigorated erection to his hand and Harry in a wonderful pattern of massage.

“ _Draco_ ,” Harry begs.

It's the most freeing thing he's ever heard.

Draco kisses Harry, giving and taking air from Potter in a tight circle of life while his fingers move quicker, stronger, squeezing in a rhythm that makes Potter thrust into his hand more and more. Draco's grey eyes open like slits, just enough to see the softness of Potter's brow clench, and he rubs himself harder against the moment, hips lifting.

Harry buckles, breaks, and tightens up, his hands latching onto Draco's hips with such fierceness that Draco blinks in surprise, his rhythm lightly offset until he catches back up, faster and faster with his strokes. Potter twists a little, his head rolling side-to-side in unbearable sensation.

Draco's jaw drops as he observes it, committing _every single second_ to memory.

And then Harry comes in his hand, his body going very tight and then shuddering limp beneath Draco.

Draco comes a little, but not much, just enough to relax again. He smiles openly as Harry's head falls back, mouth open, glasses a little crooked from it all. Draco kisses Harry's jaw softly, smiling more when Harry tiredly turns his face to reciprocate.

“W-Wow,” Harry finally says, staring up at him.

Draco's smile becomes smug. Proud.

Harry catches the change and laughs, poking his ribs. “Shut up.”

“Blew more than your mind, huh, Potter.”

“Shut up.”

“Don't be shy,” Draco teases with a kiss. “That was _hot_.”

“So were _you_ before.”

Draco blushes and buries his face in Harry's neck.

Harry laughs again, half-heartedly. “I'm fucking exhausted.”

“Yeah,” Draco agrees with a little nuzzle. “I should really go now.”

“Fuck that. Stay with me. We can pass out together.”

“Potter.”

“Your bed's comfier, won't lie, but I want to wake to you,” Harry admits. “I want to go to work knowing you slept as long as you wanted in _my_ bed after.”

Draco's blush deepens. One hand slides up to rest over Harry's thudding heart that's still trying to slow itself down. “You're sure?”

“Fuck yeah,” Harry answers enthusiastically as he can.

It takes them a few minutes to have the mutual energy to get up, and he lets Harry hold him. Draco's hips are sore from being awkwardly positioned the last minute or so. Carefully he follows Harry back down inside the hatch and attic, then into the hallway below.

Draco laughs when he sees the vase of flowers beside the bed and the few floating candles near it, too. “You're ridiculous.”

Harry shrugs and kisses him once, then goes for the toilet, leaving Draco be.

And Draco glances to himself in the small mirror over Harry's dresser and finds himself grinning from ear to ear, unable to stop with the images and the sensations repeating in his mind.

He switches with Potter once Harry vacates the loo and cleans himself up, returning to the bedroom in nothing but his pants. His clothes get thrown to the pile on the floor with Harry's, and he slides in bed where Harry waits, blankets open for him.

The bed is firmer than his, less comfortable and embracing, but Potter is warm and cuddly enough, snuggled tightly behind him with his now softer groin firmly pressed to Draco's bum. Draco's imagination runs wild when Harry rubs against him once, kisses his ear, and whispers good night with a heavy arm draped over his waist.

“Night,” Draco whispers back, closing his happy eyes.

 

 

 

 


	30. c h a m p a g n e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

30.

 

c h a m p a g n e

 

Dream descend upon him, invigorate him with added memory of real-life touches and tastes, and Draco sleeps wonderfully, satiated and warm in Potter's arms. He barely registers rolling at one point, hardly notices himself stretch over Harry's torso and legs, resting as closely as possible to the body below his. His mind incorporates the little laugh he hears into his dream and not his waking consciousness, and in that aurora-like state he kisses Harry's laughing dream self, sweetly unaware of the real lips pressing to his own brow with a smile.

Draco grumbles when his bed shifts, when the body he's curled upon decides to move to silence a clock's alarming rumble nearby. Heavy with the best sleep he's gotten in days, Draco's grey eyes can barely part as the body slips away; moodily he burrows under the blankets more, burying his face into Harry's pillow and inhaling the scent that calms him before the sound of the shower finally wakes him enough to understand.

Grey eyes startle open to stare at the empty side of the bed next to him and the wall. His heart beats excitedly, the smile catching his lips making him hide his face into Harry's pillow even more with a bit of embarrassment.

Minutes of delicious torture pass as Draco's sensual, satiated mind conjures up images of Potter in the shower, of Harry wet and slick and glorious. Water stops running. A body rustles itself dry mutedly through the wall. And Draco Malfoy lies still and waits, holding his breath and counting seconds while Potter goes through a routine of brushing his teeth and messing through a cabinet.

His pulse quickens, but he feigns sleep the second the sounds grow louder and indicate Potter moving out of the bathroom. Steps fade out toward the living room to circle to the kitchenette, and Draco sighs in momentary relief, blinking.

It's early, barely six in the morning—a time reserved for birds and idiots, in his opinion, and as he is neither, he's going the _fuck_ back to sleep if possible.

He tries to get comfortable, shifting to his side with his nose still against Harry's pillow, and he closes his eyes again. Much like when Potter had forced dinner upon his grieving self, Draco is actually quite comforted now by the telltale signs of a kettle being prepped and a single breakfast being prepared. Something about the domesticity of it, of the implicit trust and intimacy in a thing so natural to everyone else lulls him quickly back to sleep; he relaxes more, content enough that the peck to his cheek some twenty minutes later isn't enough to bring him back out of it.

The whisper from Harry is, though.

“Sleep,” Harry tells him. Potter's fingers brush hair from his eye. “Get all the rest you need.”

“I _was_ ,” Draco drawls teasingly, hiding his smiling face with blankets and pillows.

Harry chuckles softly above him, voice suddenly like silk and close to his ear. “I'd rather stay with you. Best sleep I've had since...um, well, since I stayed over at your place, actually. Sorry if that's...weird.”

Flattered and feeling quite the same, Draco snickers tiredly. “Always wondered if you woke babbling or needed tea first.”

“Shove off,” Harry grunts playfully.

Fingers drift across his cheek, lips press to his temple, and Draco sighs. Just as Potter starts to withdraw and leave, Draco rises up, warm and sultry. Harry's eyes dilate, and Potter's breath catches just enough to hear.

“I...had...a pleasant night, Potter,” Draco confides, chewing his lower lip when Harry blushes slightly.

Everything about Potter is delighted—his eyes, the lines around them, his raised brows, his cheeks with his mouth curving them as he agrees. “Me, too, Malfoy.”

Draco licks his lip and leans up, satisfied as Potter meets him halfway for a better farewell kiss that's full and slow and languidly draws apart. His neck flushes a bit red, but he can't help it.

“I've got court the rest of the week, Lily for the weekend with Ginny traveling, and dinner Sunday at the Burrow. It might be next week before I see you again,” Harry says with a small smile. “But I want to know how _you're_ doing. Write me if you want. Just keep opening up to me, okay?”

Draco's flush changes to something cooler and withdrawn in his slight discomfort. As if Potter isn't busy enough already. “Don't trouble with it. I'll see you whenever, Potter. We have lives, and yours tugs you everywhere.”

Harry shifts away from him, looking to the floor between his feet.

With an eye roll and a dramatic sigh, Draco moves forward and catches Harry about the shoulders before Potter can push off the bed and leave. His arms wrap around Harry firmly with his pointed chin resting intently near a collarbone.

When Harry doesn't speak, just continues to sit awkwardly, Draco shakes his head and flicks his fingers against Harry's jaw. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Harry replies, reserved.

“Merlin, Harry, are you seriously pouting right now?” Draco asks, half-teasing and enjoying the blush seeping into Potter's cheeks.

The snicker is appreciated. “No.”

“Somehow I don't believe you,” Draco states, kissing Potter's cheek. “Harry, I _am_ being open with you...as much as I can be.”

“Yeah?” the handsome voice inquires hopefully.

“ _Yes_.”

“Okay,” Harry replies, head lifting somewhat. Green eyes are warm like spring in the autumn outside the flat, the wind whistling past a small window on the wall.

“Then what's got you so antsy?”

Harry exhales shakily, glancing at his watch. “I'm scared to say how happy spending last night with you made me feel, getting to touch you...for you to touch _me_. I'm terrified you'll run off and ignore me another decade or more if you know how much it meant to wake with you again.”

“You don't think I feel the same?” Draco scoffs and squeezes his arms around Harry before pressing his brow to the back of Harry's right shoulder. “Harry...last night...I've never...I've always _wanted to_.... You're the first, all right? Even for just that. You're fucking special. You've _always_ been special, and I don't mean your bloody scar. So stop worrying. It meant a lot to me, _too_.”

Finally Potter looks calmer. Relieved. And happy. The smile is back, kissing Draco twice.

“It's still early. Go back to sleep. And when you get up, there's a charmed plate in the kitchen for breakfast,” Harry whispers, winks, and kisses his brow before deftly untangling himself and pushing Draco back upon the bed. Draco watches him go towards the door, heart warming the rest of his limbs with emotional waves of heat as Potter pauses and looks back to him once.

“What?” Draco asks with a yawn, cozy in the sheets.

That happiness he's seen before, even around the funeral, is overcoming Harry, shining about him like radiant light of the sun, much like the vision of the world without Draco's mental blanket. Words hesitate at Harry's mouth, words Draco knows and hears without them escaping.

“Nothing,” Harry murmurs, smiling to himself in a familiar way.

Draco's lips part as the understanding comes.

Harry closes the door behind him, leaving Draco flustered in bed alone, recalling that image for almost twenty minutes straight before he gives up and rolls over to fall back asleep, surrounded by Harry's scent and enamored with what that smile has _truly_ meant each and every time since their very first kiss.

 

 


	31. w i s t e r i a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

31.

 

w i s t e r i a

 

Leaves change and die more over the next three days, floating on gusts and slapping against the windows, layering upon themselves like natural insulation. The flowers continue fading away in the garden, except for a bush or two still fighting with what little sun they get. Moonlight becomes as centering as the dusk and dawn, keeping him company as he struggles to sleep with curious and ravenous dreams.

Each night he reflects, feeling Harry touching him as he strokes himself.

Each morning he wakes and questions if they've lost their fucking minds...if this will only backfire and burn them both, destroy them for their selfish desires and remind them of their designated places that the rest of society can't forget.

He nearly asked Pansy about it when she'd burst through the Floo prior that Wednesday evening, demanding all the details of his date. But he'd hesitated in the end, too humored by her excitement and teasing of him with each horrid query she had about Potter's cock; his silent blush was enough then to keep her guessing more about his night spent over.

There's one person he _wants_ to ask, one person he _wants_ to answer his question, because he knows that his thought is really yet another castle wall he's considering adding onto the rest of his defenses. But...it's rather hard to get the response he needs. It's not like she can _talk_ back.

Even so, he tries anyway, grabbing his long coat and scarf.

He Apparates before the gate, his feet cross the paths of dirt, and he tries to swallow the lump building in his throat.

It's been a while since he'd last dared to visit. To do so simply required more than he'd been prepared for, more than demanded of him to maintain her room. To be _here_ means to truly confront reality again, to be unable to ignore the silence in the house always accompanying him.

Within moments he stands alone again before the stone with her name, alone above where she lies forever now. In his darkest and loneliest thoughts, he wonders if her lips are still so red.

Draco exhales into the cool wind.

The stone doesn't change. Her name stays the same, her death irreversible.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, clenching his eyes shut and bowing his head.

How is it, he wonders, that he feels her so often at home, yet here where she lies _buried_ beneath him he feels nothing? How is it that she is just...gone?

Feeling absolutely stupid and ridiculous, the words burst from him brokenly as he mourns again. The chrysanthemums bound together in his fist flutter, hovering with paused breath as if waiting for him to let go of them in grief.

“I miss you,” he tells her hidden body in its grave; the earth patted over is still uncomfortably fresh compared to the overgrowth in the garden that used to surround her, and it's all the more reminding. “Scorpius misses you. He writes of you all the time, wondering...hoping you'd be proud of him in school. He's grown so much. I've had to tailor new trousers for him. It's...strange, not even seeing how much he's grown and just sending him proof of it.”

The ground doesn't speak, the stone doesn't shudder, yet there is a sense of acknowledgment of his words somehow, wrapping about him like a warm cushion against the cold.

Draco bends to a knee and rests the bouquet before her name.

The image cracks him open as he touches the lettering, the _Malfoy_ there that she'd insisted to take against his wishes, against his fears of it corrupting her, too. She was never a Malfoy, and that he knew; she was always a Greengrass, out in their garden or out about Godric's Hollow or Diagon Alley with Scorpius as a child, teaching him about birds passing by or plants growing where others dared not try.

“Damn it,” he sighs. “It's selfish, but I wish you were here. I don't...I don't know what to _do_ , Astoria. You told me to go after him, but to what extent? To satisfy myself with what risk? Our _son_...how would I even begin...to....”

The wind stirs a little then, and it carries voices of other visitors to the cemetery.

Draco quickly stands, anxious as he looks about for whomever the other people might be. He considers a small _Muffliato_ around him to continue talking, even a modified bubble charm in his slight paranoia. Fingers of his right hand graze his wand in his pocket.

The small hand tugging at his back makes him jolt slightly.

Head whipping around, pale hair tossing itself with the breeze, Draco's eyes magnify when he discovers Lily Potter behind him with her pretty red hair swinging and her smile beaming up at him.

“Hello, Mr. Malfoy,” she greets him kindly.

Draco's mouth drops, and he glances about, looking for Harry. But Harry isn't the one here with the girl; far to Draco's left Ginny bends before a solitary stone alone.

“Mr. Malfoy?” Lily tries again, smile dropping some.

He snaps out of his searching and looks to her. “Hello.”

Lily frowns adorably. “Don't you remember me?”

A smile tugs his tired lips. “Yes, Lily.”

“Oh, okay,” the child says with relief. She shifts to stand beside him, her wide eyes roaming the flowers before Astoria's headstone. “Pretty. What do they mean? Nan says flowers have meanings.”

“Lots of things,” Draco tells her, a little unsure of what to do as Ginny stays silent where she is, not looking over or noticing her daughter near him.

“Like?”

“Like...mourning and loyalty. Lasting friendship and hopes of some type.”

“Hm.” Lily eyes the stone, her little reddish brows rising up at Astoria's last name. “Who was she, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco's gaze softens, watching Harry's daughter bend to her knees before the stone. “Astoria...my wife. My...best friend, really. She passed over the summer.”

“I'm sorry,” Lily whispers, quite serious. She reaches, touches Astoria's first name with reverence in her small fingers. “I bet you miss her lots.”

“I do.”

“And I bet she misses you, too.”

“I'd like to think so.”

“What was she like?” Lily asks, carefully pushing herself to stand without crushing the flowers or disrespectfully using the stone to get up.

Grey eyes roam the darker grey stone. “She was...everything I am not. Kind, generous, loving...accepting.”

Lily looks up at him with surprise. Draco's brow mimics her expression.

Lily shakes her head, long hair twirling. “But you _are_ kind, Mr. Malfoy. You helped me, remember? Gave me chocolates _twice_. Coconut with rum.”

“Suppose I did, didn't I?” Draco offers, smiling to himself as she grows happy and nods.

“Dad talks about you all the time. He used to say people don't get it.”

Draco swallows nervously. “Used to? Don't get what?”

Lily shrugs. “I don't know. He just gets mad sometimes if someone's not talking nice about you. Like Uncle Ron when I was _really_ little. I'll never forget it, 'cause Dad got _so_ mad, and yelled those words—that Uncle Ron didn't get it, 'cause you're more than what anyone knows. What did he mean, Mr. Malfoy?”

Entirely floored, stunned with outside knowledge that Potter had been defending his character for apparently _years_ , Draco is speechless.

Lily shrugs off his silence.

Draco catches Ginny pull out some odd object to rest before the stone she visits, some almost toy-looking thing. The curiosity eats enough for him to ask the girl, “Who...what relative are you visiting here?”

“Uncle Fred. Mum always comes to see him before she has to go for matches,” Lily responds, confirming his thought. “She says he's just like Uncle George. Even looked like him!”

“They were _identical_ twins,” Draco says.

Lily glances to her mother's spot sadly. “He died before I was born, but Mum says he loves me anyway. He was killed in the War.“

Draco's eyes shut as he winces. All of the awfulness he experienced during that time of his life slams into him with gusto, rapid images of fear and manipulation, of giving where he should have stood his ground, and of faces no longer seen. Fred Weasley's appears in the middle of it with a trademark smirk before being replaced with dead eyes and a demanding mouth asking him how it feels to still be alive.

Small fingers grasp his shaking hand, startling him out of it.

Draco holds them back without knowing why.

Lily grows thoughtful. “Did you know Uncle Fred? You know Dad and Mum and Uncle Ron and Aunt 'Mione.”

“I...knew _of_ him,” Draco explains, guilt eating his gut with each passing second of kind welcome in the child's eyes before him.

“What was he like?”

Draco almost smiles remembering the twins trying to cheat the Cup's rules and growing rapid beards, and the smile does show when the memory of the dragon they'd conjured attacking Umbridge's wall of rules overtakes his mind.

“He was...clever. The twins were always clever, but stu—silly. Entertaining.”

“So _really_ like Uncle George then.”

“Yes.”

Lily stares at her mother. She still holds onto his hand, as if she's forgotten about it. “Mummy really misses him. She...says sometimes that she wishes I'd met him. Dad says that about my grandparents, too. Did you know his parents died?”

“Yes,” Draco says, hollow. _Everyone_ knows.

“Daddy doesn't talk much about when he was little.”

“I imagine not.”

“Were you friends in school? I have a friend in primary. I hope we get into the same House when I go to Hogwarts, too.”

The equivalent of an ox's yolk rests upon the back of his neck and shoulders, weighing him into the ground. For a crazed moment, he wonders if he'll just sink into the soft earth and join Astoria beneath the weight of his life and mistakes, of his terror of fate.

Awkwardly he replies, “No. We...weren't friends in school.”

Lily seems surprised. “Oh? You're real good friends now, though.”

“We're...trying to be, yes.” Draco sighs. “I'm not easy to befriend.”

“Why?”

“I'm just not. I'm...different.”

“Everyone's different, Mr. Malfoy. Dad wears glasses. Mum plays quidditch. Uncle Ron loves wizard's chess.”

The corner of his mouth turns up slowly.

Grey eyes settle upon the flesh and blood of Harry, of life created by the one he loves so fucking much, and he views her without any jealousy or contempt. He simply witnesses and accepts the joy passed to her, the confidence and kindness that has always made him nervous.

When Lily just smiles back at him, Draco feels the compulsion. His lips part as he hears Ginny moving around closer, and he whispers with sad eyes, “I'm sorry.”

“For what, Mr. Malfoy?” Lily wonders, quite confused.

“For your uncle...for you not...meeting him,” Draco admits, guilt swelling in his throat. “For...many things you don't know.”

Lily blinks as she registers his words, and like the beautifully wonderful child she is, she squeezes his fingers and pats his arm with her free hand. “You don't have to be sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I don't know why you feel bad, but that's not your fault. It's okay.”

Draco nearly staggers to his knees, staying upright _only_ because Ginny has grown close enough to watch him tightly with speculating eyes that widen upon his hand holding her daughter's. He tries to let go, but Lily continues her hold, calling out to her mother.

“Look, Mum! Mr. Malfoy's here,” Lily says, oblivious in the best of ways to her mother's harsh, uncertain gaze upon him. Lily gestures to Astoria's stone. “He's visiting his wife. She passed away, Mum.”

“I know,” Ginny murmurs, exhaling. She turns, reads Astoria's stone with a pause of respect, and notes the flowers resting in front of it. “We need to go, Lily. I have to take you to Dad.”

Lily nods, pats his hand as she lets it go. “Bye, Mr. Malfoy! Nice to see you again.”

“You, too,” he mumbles, beyond awkward as Ginny watches him. He nods once to her, unsure of what the fuck to say, _especially_ since his date with her ex-husband just nights ago.

Ginny stares him down. Nods, too, finally. And then she tugs Lily away, the girl calling out another goodbye to him without ever knowing why her mother looks so pained and uncomfortable, why _he_ does.

Draco looks to the cloudy, overcast sky, wondering what the fuck just even happened to him.

“At least _she_ likes me,” he mutters, snickering after.

He steps a little closer to Astoria's stone again. He asks his fearful question he'd come to ask.

A single deep red leaf falls from the tree nearby. Wind takes it, whisks it right up to his face, and it kisses his cheek before slowly sailing to the ground at his feet.

 

 


	32. s n o w

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

32.

 

s n o w

 

 

Two weeks dredge by slowly, punctuated with letters from Harry's owl. An emergency case had come up requiring Senior Aurors, and Draco had read the specific document detailing Harry's further absence with sickened nerves. Potter and Weasley had been requested to chase whatever bastard of a wizard it was down, and it was lucky if they'd been in the bloody country the last few days at all.

It surprises him, this fear.

He's long known Harry's job is dangerous. He well remembers the bravery and deaths in the War, the losses so personal to Potter, too.

Even so, it truly hadn't crossed his mind in some time. Not with Harry having been so luckily available the summer and autumn thus far, stuck with local work and court testimonies keeping him home. And now, now as the middle of October hits with a very cold chill that hurries him quicker with each trip to Diagon Alley or the Ministry, Draco finds himself almost unable to deal with the monster of worry he's shoved out of sight, locked away in his mental cupboards.

He makes some tea late into a Thursday evening, needing to steady his nerves.

Harry owl'ed twice before he left days ago, and Draco's heard nothing since. He's half tempted to owl Granger with demands to any information _she_ might have about Weasley and Harry, but he knows the required explanation of his demand would take far too much out of him. And he's not sure if Ginny would even reply if he sent _her_ one.

Sitting there, sipping tea absent-mindedly, he understands how quietly far it's gotten.

And sitting there, eyes popping, he moves the tea aside to cool forgotten.

He leans forward with his face in his hands, nervous with his choices. With Potter. With the universe itself.

The clock chimes nine, startling him less than the Floo when it rushes with sound and magic, making his head jerk up in shock.

There, walking out of it, is Harry. He's dirty, his uniformed robes are torn, and there's a healing scratch on one cheek. But there he is, staring at Draco with the dumbest smile he's ever seen.

“Hey,” Potter murmurs.

Draco shoves to his feet, torn between hitting the bastard and kissing him senseless. He decides somewhere in the middle of the two, eyeing Harry with an unhappy, but relieved glare.

“So, we caught him. This morning, can't say where but it was far,” Harry explains, stepping closer. The smile slides away slowly as Draco's glare holds steady. Potter swallows. “We got safe transport finally, and I spent the last four hours with guards and paperwork...but I came here as soon as I could. Went by Ginny's to tuck Lily in first, make sure she knew I was home and safe.”

When Draco says nothing, still too angry and relieved and uncertain about it all, Harry takes him by the hand, and they sit upon the white sofa after Harry slings his outer robe off to be sure he's clean enough. Rather than take the opposite side, Potter sits in the middle next to him, fingers intertwining with his.

Something about Harry is deceptively calming, and something about Harry is openly terrifying, and together whatever they are combine and make him want the comfort he has always denied himself. Draco lets himself rest more against the cushions, but his eyes remain upon their hands over his leg.

“You were...safe?” Draco finally asks, voice the slightest bit rough.

“Yeah, mostly,” Harry answers, watching him from the side. “What about you? Are you okay? I'm sorry about all this. I'm going to add you to my contacts list for any emergency notifications from work. Don't like you not knowing. Don't like you so alone here, either.”

The fluster is instant, and the urge to take the given diversion from the cause of his true upset is overpowering.

“I don't need a babysitter. I'm a bloody adult. A widower. I'm _going_ to be alone, Potter,” Draco grumbles, taking the bait, jerking his fingers free and slamming his other elbow upon the sofa arm. “You don't have to feel guilty. You don't have to add me to anything. Could have owl'ed when you were home.”

Harry exhales some frustration before calmly saying, “Didn't meant to imply that you can't take care of yourself. And I know I could have, but I'd rather see you instead.”

But he can't stop. Draco feels his nerves eating at himself too strongly. “I'm not some responsibility Astoria passed over to you, if that's where your head is, Potter.”

“Didn't mean that either,” Harry replies, sounding hollow. “Sorry.”

Despite the fearful ache in his heart, Draco reaches. Fingers clasp again, and Harry faces him, curious. Draco keeps staring because it's all he can do.

No matter how old Potter gets, no matter how many years from the War time marches forward, Harry will always be Harry. He will always give more of himself than he should, will fear for everyone and do anything possible for those he loves. He'll always stick his nose into things he shouldn't, and he'll always focus on Draco, whether Draco wants it or not.

And he does. Merlin help him, he _does_ , even with his thinking lately.

 _Then don't be a coward_ , Ginny says in his thoughts, infuriating him.

Draco leans when Harry just blinks up at him, and he kisses Potter gently once upon the lips before resting their brows together. Harry's breathing rushes a little faster, and warmth floods his cheeks as those green eyes ask their silent questions.

“Thanks for letting me know you were back.”

“Sure.”

“You're unharmed?”

“Yeah. You're sure you're okay? You seem...tense.”

“Fine, Potter. Let it go.”

“Mm,” Harry sighs with a tired huff. The green eyes are sly when Harry pulls back just enough to grunt, “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?” Draco questions, disliking the look entering Harry's gaze.

It's a speculation he's not had aimed at him in years, and it's _never_ a good thing.

Harry shakes his head. “Deflect back to me when I try to include you, to show you that you matter. I _want_ to add you to emergency lists, and you tell me it's unnecessary. Why? I know you _care_ and all, and I appreciate it, but it feels...it feels like you're shoving me away when you do this. I hate it.”

“I'm not,” Draco lies through his teeth. “I told you to let it go. It's not my fault you feel my affairs are _your_ business just because you allow others into your own or must include me in everything. We're not even a couple, Harry. No one would understand my name on that list.”

Harry's expression tightens up. “Maybe not officially, and maybe not a 'couple,' but we're _something_ , and you know it. And I don't care if they wouldn't understand—that's not the point.”

“We aren't _anything_. We had _one_ date,” Draco says, pushing away from Harry as the fear takes over. “Doesn't make us...whatever.”

“It's been more than a date overall, Draco. Can be more dates, too, if that's what you want. But you know something? You've _never_ been able to lie to me that well,” Harry tells him, eyes suddenly fierce. “ _Never_. That's something I learned after all these years. Your eyes tell me the truth _every_ time. It's how I knew fighting you was wrong, how I knew you were scared back then but wouldn't admit to it. Your eyes don't lie. They say everything.”

Bared to the bone, Draco looks away.

Fingers firmly move his chin, and the grey and green are bold and clashing like the rain starting upon the grounds outside, the line between the shades constantly blurring and edging. But the grass absorbs the rain, and Harry absorbs Draco's glare just the same.

“Now they say you're angry, but you're still afraid of something. You've _been_ afraid of something, but not all the time—like you feel how you do, and then you let this fear control you again the second I'm gone,” Potter mumbles, then comes aware with wide eyes and shakes his head, letting go of Draco's chin. “It's me. You're afraid of _me_. Letting me in, just like you said.”

“Don't be absurd,” he scoffs, sounding _quite_ like his seventeen-year-old self. “I've let you in as much as I let Astoria. I'm _not_ afraid of _you_ , Potter. I'm _allowed_ to be a private fucking person!”

“Then what?” Harry pesters him, sitting a bit sideways upon the cushion and squeezing their fingers. Harry looks down at their hands, frowns, and holds their arms up between them. “This? Being _something_ more than friends, something _a lot_ like being a couple?”

Draco doesn't speak. He doesn't have to do so when Harry is right, when his stupid eyeballs give him away each time.

Potter bites his lower lip, chews on it in thought while he considers their fingers weaved together. And then Potter suddenly lets go. Draco's eyes widen when the fingers quite suddenly vacate his, and Potter rises up quickly.

“I've been trying to be respectful with how you feel about things, but I've been getting mixed signals, too, apparently. I'm sorry,” Harry speaks, sounding empty. “It's hard sometimes knowing what I do about your feelings and feeling how I do for you, but I won't bother you that way anymore if you're still on the fence. You're allowed to care for me and still be unsure, I get that.”

“Potter,” Draco hisses, shocked into real anger as Harry walks to the Floo.

Harry doesn't respond, just grabs for the silver powder in the jar on the mantle.

Maybe it's the gall Harry has riling up that old rivalry urge, maybe it's someone turning their back on him, maybe it's his heart clawing its fucking way to his throat needing to leap through the last obstacle he's put in front of it, but Draco stands suddenly and shouts, “Always know everything, don't you, Potter? Always!”

Harry freezes, fingers holding silvery sand that slips through the gaps of skin and falls like granule silk back into its pot.

“Think you're being helpful, think you're being respectful, think you _know_ what's best for everyone else by toying with them, getting what you want when you want it and walking away when you suddenly remember your conscience,” Draco continues, voice going hoarse. “ _You're_ the one going through a fucking divorce! Shouldn't you observe that rather than snogging someone else the second you're free? Or worse, _before_ you even signed those bloody papers!”

Shoulders straighten before him, and Harry slowly turns around.

Draco sucks in a breath at the _fury_ aimed his way.

Time erodes, and he's standing in the Great Hall while Potter is staring at him from down the table rows, putting the pieces together about a girl and a necklace and danger.

Time collapses upon itself, and Draco feels himself break in fear and self-loathing, in disgust at being weak, at Potter for always being pristinely moral—a Gryffindor for the fucking ages.

And Harry's mouth opens and time reverts fast enough for Draco to catch the end of Potter's own shouting words exclaiming, “...told you before we'd emotionally separated _last year_ , Draco! It isn't my fault that _didn't mean_ something to you like it did me. The entire point of us divorcing is to move forward with life, and obviously there's manners and tact to consider, but I'm not going to 'mourn' anything nor spend the next months alone just because others think it's the 'right' thing to do! If I'm alone, it'll be because I want to be. And honestly, maybe I _should_ be. It's like all I can do is upset people anymore. I'd get if _you_ need more time with Astoria's passing, but I feel like I'm clearly making _something_ worse here.”

Draco's heart screams in his chest at the slap of the last words, but his mouth is far faster and overtakes the thudding. “Oh, _please_. Spare me the self-fucking-pity, Potter.”

“What, like you're free of it? It's there in your eyes, Draco—you want this, and you're angry at yourself for it, for wanting it at all, for how vulnerable it makes you feel, for how _I make you feel_!” Harry screams back. “You're _full_ of it.”

“Of course I fear it! I fear everything _about_ it! And I'm not full of pity, you bastard, I'm filled to the brim with self-disgust!” Draco caves, voice breaking. When Harry pauses, eyes round behind his glasses and his mouth wide open, Draco almost laughs. “Look at me, Potter! Look at me.”

Harry examines him with less fury and more sadness, with slumping shoulders and a closing jaw.

Draco nods and nods more with his anger, then explodes. “You want to know what's wrong? Why I was upset when you came? Fine, you nosy fuck. I fear what the hell _you do_ to me and have for _years_. I'm terrified of what might happen if I let you all the way in, more than I showed _Astoria_. I hate that you've always had power over me, and I rebelled against it every chance I got—mocking you, fighting you, belittling you to prove it didn't matter, that I was just as good or better than you, that I wasn't _curious_ about you! I hated that it had to be _you_ I couldn't shake, _you_ I clearly had some fated fucking tie around! And then you _almost_ killed me, started questioning things, and _fucking died_. You _died_ , and my fucking _world ended_ , Potter! I _lost_ you!”

Harry's jaw drops below his wet eyes. “Draco, I—”  
  
“Shut up! I lost you, you selfish fuck, because you can't _not_ be the stupid Hero. Then you were on your feet, and all I could think about was how I could suddenly breathe,” Draco admits, chest heaving with each word. “I threw you my wand on instinct to _protect_ you! It wasn't until after that trial that it really sunk in how you were still _alive_ , and I couldn't take it anymore. I kissed you. Whether it was a mistake or not, I've wondered for years, but I did it. And my thoughts, my disgust at myself for things I've done, and mistakes I can't outrun _do not_ make me a fucking coward for fearing _this_ whatever-the-fuck-it-is with you. I can't make another one. My son's all I have left, and I can't fuck it up by fucking _you_ and hurting him through his friend's father, can I, Potter? Part of me would fuck you _right now_ if you begged me to do it, Harry. Merlin knows I've dreamed of it, dreamed of being inside you, woke up desperate for _you_ in _me_. But would you look at me after in horror and shock and disgust because you'd _remember_ who I am? Would you run, like everyone else at the sight of me? Would everything you say you feel still be true the morning after, when you know _what_ and _whom_ you've _done_?”

He wavers, steps back, and collapses upon the closest sofa cushion, still shaking.

Harry stands, absolutely speechless, and Draco wants to Vanish himself. But even so, Ginny's words _will not_ leave him.

“I am not a fucking coward for acknowledging the truth,” he snipes under his breath at Potter's ex-wife not even in the room, damn her. “I'm _not_.”

He hears Harry move, but doesn't dare to look up to see whether it's to leave or come closer. The hands that cup his face are evidence enough of Potter's inability to let someone toil in their mess, but when he chances to open his eyes again, it isn't pity he sees. It isn't Potter trying to fix anything. It's exactly what Ginny had told him, exactly what he saw in that smile the last he'd seen on Harry that special morning after: It's love. Love and surprise and sorrow for his pain, and in a heartbeat his face is pressed to Harry's throat as Potter yanks him closer, as Potter holds him tightly, lips to his temple and hair.

“I don't think you're a coward, Draco. I don't know _why_ you keep repeating that. But...why didn't you just tell me this, all of this? Fuck, I...I don't even know where to begin.”

“Nowhere,” Draco gripes, angry all over again. “You've enough to fucking deal with right now. So go home, Harry. Just go home.”

Harry sighs above him. “ _No._ Damn it, Draco. You are _worth_ it.”

Draco quakes, feeling the tears burning in his lids. “Don't you get it, you idiot? I'm not good or anything you should want around. If I didn't have a son, I'd have already probably taken advantage of this and run just to get you out of my system. I'd tell myself I'd fucked you, and that that was enough...that anything more was weakness and pointless.”

“Draco—”

“But I have a son, Potter. I have a _child_ , someone dependent upon me alone now. Someone who, if I told him every truth I had, would only see the traitor I was branded to be.”

“I don't think Scorpius would _ever_ think of you as a traitor. I think all he'd ever want is understanding— _your_ side of things. You're his father, and he trusts and loves you.”  
  
“I trusted and tried to love _my_ father, and look where the fuck that got me,” Draco hisses against Harry's skin. “I've only wanted to be better than mine was. That's all I've lived and worked for since he was born. It's my purpose. Making sure he's safe, he's content, that I'm not ruining him.”

Harry sighs above him. “You'd never ruin him, Draco.”

Draco's head tosses side to side, unable to handle it. “You deserve your children. They will forgive you, and they will always love you because you're _you_. But I don't _deserve him_ , Harry. I don't deserve such a gift, and he deserves far better than I for a father. He should have someone like _you_. Someone _good_ , even with your faults.”

“You _are_ good, you berk,” Harry counters, his jaw rubbing the crown of Draco's head. “Look, even when the rest weren't sure, even when _you_ weren't sure, I knew there was good in you. I felt it when you hesitated killing Dumbledore...when you even hesitated at first to fight me, too. Sparing me in the Manor, saving you in the Room of Requirement.... You helping me against Voldemort was only further proof, Draco, of what I'd already figured out.”

“Then _this_ is proof that I'm not,” he retorts and rolls his sleeve up his left forearm to bear the Mark he's hidden for years. The snake and skull have barely faded over all that time, too magically created to do so regardless of their origination. “This is all anyone else remembers, Potter, so why don't you? This... _ugliness_! A mistake!”

“I spent years only seeing you by such thinking, and I came to see how big a disservice that was...how ignorant I was.” Harry angles him momentarily, so close he can feel the flutter of those dark lashes to his cheek, and Harry smiles through the sadness. “I remember what I'd started to see at the end of it all—someone afraid, someone unsure, but someone bold enough to try anyway... _you_ , Malfoy. You are your past, but you're also your present...and your future, whatever it will be. Give yourself some damn credit. You got out of the Manor. You have this home. And you have your son, who is _wonderful_ , had your family with Astoria. _Good_ things. You've done _good things_ , and you are _good_.”

Draco gives into the burning desire to bury his face against the warm skin until he's breathing it in, until his lips are pressing to it without intention and it hides the tears in his eyes. He feels the string become taut between them, then tangible and wrapped around, encircling them as their energies heal together.

“Promise me you'll talk to me from now on. Promise me you won't let this eat you alive anymore. Promise me you won't fight how you feel for me, for _us_ ,” Harry begs into his ear. “Damn it, Draco, I...I _hate_ knowing this has hurt you so much. Please just...just know that...I know who you are, I don't care what anyone else thinks, and I'd never wake up... _a-after..._ and think those things. I'd be too in shock and hoping you'd liked it to even think about anything else, just like I was the morning after we _did_ touch one another.”

Draco senses Harry's love just like how he knows Harry's body is so close, and it comforts him in a way nothing else can. He breathes out. Relaxes. And blushes when he recalls just what the hell he'd screamed earlier. Embarrassed, he chooses to bask in the silent closeness.

“I....” His head hangs, skin flushed with hope. “I'll...try.”

Harry awkwardly adjusts on a knee before him. Fingers stroke his up his shoulders, lift to the back of his head, and pull him closer. Lips part as eyes wait for his permission, and his close, granting it.

They kiss without walls or barriers. They kiss wrapped in a new start of string, one of them merging subconsciously as Draco's mouth opens and tongues greet one another. Hands grasp arms and hair. Nails dig into shoulders. He kisses Harry with an aching, living, breathing need. A need all its own and a need Potter has, too, as he gives back every bit of intensity and more, moving an arm around Draco to hold him closer, to slide his palm further down and rest his broad hand across the lower dip of Draco's back.

They part for breath, both trembling.

And Harry's lips press firmly to his brow as Potter murmurs, “Lily told me she saw you in the cemetery. She said you told her you were sorry she'd never met her uncle, and she asked me why. All I could say was that the War was horrible, and that I was grateful she said what she had to you then.”

Draco doesn't speak. Just swallows down awkwardness with his eyes glued to the decorative Italian rug beneath his feet and Harry's knees.

“Draco, you can't know what that meant to me—to have watched you buy my daughter a simple chocolate, to have seen you bringing her to me when I'd thought she was lost...and now to know you'd reached out and bared yourself to a child who wouldn't understand,” Harry says, voice breaking as Potter wipes part of his face. “So don't you _ever_ tell me you aren't good again.”

Grey eyes blink a few tears down his cheek. Draco turns his face away, feeling the drops fall off his jaw.

“And for the rest...I respect that you have your son in mind. My children are always on mine. But that doesn't mean this is wrong between us, Draco. It just means that we have to be patient with them when we disclose it. I want to show my kids that love is love, and that when it comes, it's okay even if the shape it takes isn't approved by everyone they know.”

“Who said anything about love?” Draco scoffs, but his eyes dart up to Harry's, and he knows Potter sees the smile in them, reads them like a book.

Harry huffs at him with a smirk. “You prat.”

“Admit it, Potter,” Draco murmurs, barely holding his own smirk back. “You _like_ that about me. You're mental, but you _do_.”

“So what. Shut up,” Harry laughs, then grows more serious. “Without critiquing yourself, tell me what you want.”

He'll never know how Harry does it. He'll never be able to _truly_ put into words the beautiful effects of Potter. But he breathes calmer, and he stares at Harry with unflinching eyes. “I want more of that night, even more of that morning, and anything in between. I don't _know_ what that means, how far reaching it goes, Potter. I just know I loved Astoria as the best friend she was, and that that's not what holds me back. Her loss isn't the problem.”

Harry waits patiently, stroking his jaw and reassuring him with each touch.

Draco bites his lip, and the image of that red leaf kissing his cheek flashes across his mind. Centered, he admits, “I'm still unsure of...of letting myself _be_ what I am, I suppose. I was never able to...do so. I don't know what Father would have done. Astoria tried to encourage me in our marriage, but I'm too fucking stubborn. Everyone would have had some crap to toss my way for it, Harry, and I never wanted Scorpius to...well, I never had a lover during my marriage for a reason, regardless of him being little or in Hogwarts where I can't watch over him.”

“And if you gave it a chance? You wouldn't be alone, Draco. We'd rely on _each other_ to deal with any crap, to handle the kids. And we'd be public when we were ready, not before. _Believe_ me, I want my kids hearing it from _me_ , too.”

“What if it goes horribly wrong?” he counters, slightly tapping his foot. “What if you change your mind in a fucking week, and I'm left alone? Potter, that risk—”

“Isn't a real concern because I _won't_ ,” Harry interjects, the echo of that loving smile returning. “What if it doesn't go horribly wrong, Draco? What if it goes _well_? Will you run from _me_?”

Draco closes his eyes.

Harry's nose brushes his. “Draco, whatever has pushed us here...kept us going all this time? I think that's partly why I feel it'll be okay. It's such a _good_ feeling.”

He knows. He's felt it too, rebelled all the more in terror _of_ the idea that things could go well. Because happiness the way he thinks others know it isn't something he's known so well himself, like hints of a foreign language picked up only in bits and phrases while the true translation and ability stays far out of reach.

Gently, he pushes against Harry until Potter leans back.

Draco stands, glancing down where his Chosen bloke still kneels as he makes his decision and changes his entire life for the foreseeable future.

A palm opens in front of Harry. Green eyes roam it before reading his eyes to understand, to be _sure_ he's not misread. Warm fingers take his hand, and Draco pulls Harry to his feet, leading the man he loves silently to his bedroom with its door closing fondly behind them.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [It picks up immediately in the next chapter. Promise. ;)]


	33. c a r n e l i a n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mm _mm_ ;)
> 
>  
> 
> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

33.

 

c a r n e l i a n

 

 

Neither one breathes at first, too stunned to be standing next to the handsome bed together.

Their hands are held, their eyes equally captivated.

Draco breaks the intensity by glancing down to the thinner lips that are soft and parted and waiting for him. His grey eyes flutter shut the second they meet. Everything inside of him melts at the touch of hands shifting, of strong working fingers sliding down his back to grip his bum and pull him closer, grinding the hardness in his trousers against a newly familiar one that he craves more than anything.

Boldness surges through his veins, and Draco thrusts against Potter, still kissing him senseless.

Harry gasps against his mouth with each movement. He pushes back as hard and desperate while one hand rushes up to anchor in pale hair. The smallest moan slips between them; he's quite uncertain as to just _who_ made it, but he doesn't care.

Feet move, hands push and yank the Auror uniform's top up Potter's stomach. Draco leans over Harry's form on the bed, licking his way alongside the dark trail of hair from Harry's trousers, past his navel, and onward to his heart. The skin and muscles beneath him twitch with each lap of tongue. Harry shudders with pleasure as Draco swirls the tip of the wet muscle over one hard sienna nipple and then the other.

Fingers brush the tops of his ears, slide to cup his jaw, and tease down its sweeping arc and back, burying in his hair with relish. Draco calls up the picture of the mark Harry had left on his neck during that date—a mark that had lasted _half_ the time they hadn't seen one another since it had been made—and with it in mind, he lies over Harry's body, hands sliding Potter's down to fold their fingers together while he sucks at Harry's throat and rubs his crotch against the hard cock beneath his waist.

He keeps at it until he feels _certain_ that he's marked Potter as deeply, and his satisfaction at Harry's groans make him smile to himself when he lets one hand go to rest upon Harry's hip, slipping it around to grab some of Harry's curvy bum that he's wanted for _so_ long.

“ _Mm_ , Harry,” Draco moans against Harry's cheek.

Harry's cheeks warm, and Potter turns to kiss him, the playful tongue daring to swipe across Draco's full lower lip before Harry lightly sucks at the flesh and resumes the kiss itself.

Draco lets Potter distract himself with it, using the time to his seductive advantage. His fingers squeeze the flesh still in his palm once before he kisses Harry back, lets go, and finds the button on Potter's trousers. It's the sound of the zipper that catches Harry's attention enough to pause and look down their bodies, smiling to himself hazily at Draco's fingers slipping under trousers and pants; they shift to Harry's hip and tug in a zigzag motion, jerking the material layers down enough with Draco leaning away somewhat. Harry lifts up, understanding, and Draco slides the other side down to match, baring Harry from his sternum to his thighs.

Eyes feast on the gorgeous tan skin, the heavy and flushed cock resting against a reddened sac all nestled with that dark hair he'd barely gotten glimpses of on the date. Draco looks to Harry once, then moves himself, resting back his long legs between Harry's, both of their bodies partially hanging off the bed's side edge.

Draco licks his lips, more ready than he's ever felt for anything in his life.

Harry starts to speak, but goes silent at the tongue lapping over his cock and the cool fingers massaging the shaft; they hold it firmly, and Draco closes his eyes and licks off wetness coming from the tip. His lips part as Harry's do above him in surprise and full blown desire, and Draco takes the thick cock into his mouth, sucking the head at first before going for more.

Potter bucks beneath him, clenches the covers, and moans in a series of broken gasps and panted sighs.

Draco cracks one eye open, enthralled by how beautiful Harry looks with his eyes closed behind the sexy frames. The vulnerability, the _willing_ vulnerability in the intimate act furrows inside his heart, warms it and the rest of him alongside the heat of arousal.

His own cock is ridiculously hard in his trousers, but he ignores it as best he can, focusing on Harry alone, thereby starting the process of letting Harry _into_ his many walls.

Harry's male musk is enticing, and Draco couldn't care less that Potter hasn't even gotten home to shower yet. The hint of sweat coming from Harry's thighs only turns him on more, and he flexes his fingers over one of the large muscles before sliding it to cup Harry's sac, keeping his other hand about Potter's cock while his mouth bobs up and down. He withdraws only long enough to circle the tip with his tongue, to swipe the broad width of it under the head in a vertical motion with a followed up catch of the fluid continuing to slowly seep from the top.

“ _Draco_ ,” Harry breathes his name with awe.

Invigorated by the sound and the _emotion_ attached to his name, Draco escalates his actions. He licks a little rougher, sucks a little harder, takes _more_ of Harry until he hits his limit.

Potter breaks, cries out so loud that Draco is fucking _glad_ he has no immediate neighbors of any sort. And Harry doesn't stop, just keeps moaning and _begging_ before demanding with a somehow pleading tone, “ _Yes_ , oh my fucking _God_ , Draco! Don't stop, babe, please _don't stop_.”

Draco blushes and relaxes his jaw enough to withdraw more and stroke Potter four or five times to his base with an added quick rub of his other palm to Harry's balls. He then replaces his fingers with his mouth one last time, sucking around the head of Harry's cock until he feels the jittery legs jolt around him, sees the abdomen flex and hold, and hears Harry's voice crack in a loud cry of his name.

He closes his eyes when Harry comes over his tongue. He ignores the continued strangeness of the new taste in his life and just lets himself enjoy the essence of Harry. Draco swallows, then licks every last dripping bit from the slit of the cock held in his right hand.

The long, contented sigh escapes him as Harry comes to awareness, as he falls back into himself from whatever celestial place his mind had just gone. There's a soft whimper as Draco kisses his way up Harry's body, nuzzling his nose over the dark red mark he'd made on Harry's neck.

“Fuck,” Harry exhales, eyes barely open. “Fuck me, that was fantastic.”

Draco chews at his lower lip, the grey in his eyes sultry and simmering like smoke seducing Harry all over again when he tilts to see him. “I will, Harry...I'll fuck you if you want. Right now.”

They stare at one another, immobile.

Harry's chest heaves a little, his breathing yet to slow. “Yeah?”

Draco nods quietly. Almost shyly he looks away, _annoyed_ at that shyness, and murmurs, “I want _both_...want you in me and me in you, but...I don't know what you...what you....”

Harry reaches, fists his hand in Draco's hair and tugs him closer for a hot, open mouthed kiss. They part breaths later, only for him to find that the emerald of Harry's eyes is deeper and as seductive as his own gaze.

“Fuck me,” Harry whispers against his lips. “Right now.”

“You're _sure_ ,” Draco questions, a little nervous when the reality begins to crash into him.

“Yes, Draco,” Harry assures him as the fist in his hair lightens and the fingers trace down the nape of his neck. “I want both, too. I'll take my turn another night when I'm not already exhausted from tracking a clever seventy-year-old kleptomaniac Animagus wizard across two countries.”

Draco's mouth opens in small wonder. “Harry.”

Harry pushes for another kiss, unfazed by what he's just said. “Look, I understand, Draco. You _need_ this. You need to let yourself _experience_ it. And that's okay. I'm okay. I want to experience it, too, _with_ you.”

Draco sits upright. Remembers he's clothed. Shaky hands move to the buttons of his shirt, and trembling fingertips struggle to uncover his chest.

Warm skin overtakes them as Harry gently smiles and tries to help. The added weight of Harry's hands offer security instead of force, grant peace in lieu of fear. Draco slowly gets all the buttons undone, and Harry watches him shrug out of the shirt and toss it to the floor.

“Beautiful,” Harry says, eyes traveling all over his torso. “You're so fucking handsome.”

“Thanks,” Draco murmurs with a tight swallow and a small smile.

“I want to touch every bit of you.”

“Later,” he promises with bouncing brows.

Harry smirks and manages to sit up enough to pull his uniform off and kick more out of the material caught about his legs. Draco stands off the bed, fingers at his trouser button, but Harry stops him again. Draco's eyes grow heavier with the vision of Potter stripping him the rest of the way naked, and his head falls back in rapture as Harry tugs his hips closer and a hot mouth licks at _him_ , too.

It's not that such a thing is new to him entirely. Even the sex they're about to have isn't, not with Astoria's earliest attempts at trying to make him comfortable if she could at all with his permission. But it _is_ his first with a bloke, with what he _wants_ and with the man he needs.

Draco gently runs his hands through Harry's wild hair, loving the softness of it. Harry's mouth is so warm. Harry's tongue caresses Draco, licks over the head of his cock maddeningly well while Harry's hand strokes him, too.

A smile graces Draco's lips at the thoughtfulness, but he carefully presses the heel of his palm against Harry's scar twice. Harry slowly pulls away, and Draco's erection is wet in the low lamp light he'd previously left going in the room. Potter looks up at him, nervousness showing right at the surface, and so Draco leans down and kisses the same spot he'd bumped on the lightning bolt of destiny.

“Felt good, Harry. _Too_ good,” Draco softly explains, hoping Harry will understand.

The Hero does, a slow grin spreading back up at him. “Ah.”

Harry finishes stripping himself and relaxes over the bed, settling in the middle as he kicks covers and sheets down without ceremony. Draco snorts under his breath, shaking his head while going to his armoire. Inside a hidden shelf he finds the bottle he wants, and he withdraws it and closes the cherry doors after.

When he turns to walk towards the bed, he stops. His eyes widen noticing Potter's gaze raking down him with a sensual pout. Draco stands tall, gloriously naked, smirking to himself because Harry has failed to even note his pause, too caught up in committing every detail of his body to memory.

“Potter,” he grunts, and Harry's green eyes snap up to his face from previously resting over his groin.

“What?” Harry asks, swallowing and leaning into the pillows.

Draco's smirk grows. “Got your fill?”

“Shove off,” Harry grumbles, face rosy red.

“It's fine. I understand,” Draco teases with a slow rest of his walk around the left of the bed. “I'm well bred, after all. Tall, thin, with a long cock. Fabulous hair.”

“ _Merlin_ , Draco.”

Draco's laugh bursts from him. It's wild and free and fully enjoying itself.

Harry laughs with him, smiling after in that loving way. “I treasure your laugh, you know. Not your mean one, but your genuine one. _That_ one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.”

“Typical,” Draco winks, trying to shake off the nerves eating him up inside.

Harry rolls his eyes and scoots over, making room for him to kneel. Draco keeps a cool outward appearance, using that Malfoy learned ability of saving face, and he looks to the bottle in his hand and then to Harry.

Harry waits, looking _very_ impatient and nervous, too. “...so?”

“I should...prepare you, but I didn't know if you'd rather do so yourself.”

“Ah.”

“Harry, haven't you ever...with... _Her_?”

Harry's face scrunches. “In her. Once. Drunk on a New Year's Eve. We enjoyed it, but it was...a bit rough. Wasn't as sober as we should have been trying it the first time, especially with me barely remembering a spell to, ah...get some of that stuff from my wand. Happens when you're sneaking in a family party. We never really got to try much of it afterward. Too many kids, and ridiculous schedules made our sex life hell.”

Draco doesn't get jealous. To do so would be utterly pointless now when Harry's left her side and is lying naked upon _his_ bed. So he just nods. “Never used the spell to know, but this would help. I pay good money for it. Pansy picks it up for me at some hidden shop in the Alley.”

“Huh. Might have to poke around that shop, myself.”

“She said there's loads of this stuff, a whole wall of potions and the like to...increase the fun of it,” he shrugs, then pops the stopper. “This has been enough for me, but I suppose I could look into others...for future things, if....”

Harry's cheeks haven't faded from their rosiness. Smiling in a totally adorably anxious way, Harry mumbles, “Sounds...good. Yeah.”

Now sporting equally red cheeks and a flush through his neck and ears, Draco just blows air through his lips. “So. You or me?”

“You know what you're doing, right?”

“Yes. I, um. When I was first married and all.”

“Then you,” Harry answers, not bothered in the least.

Draco moves closer. One hand ruffles through his hair, slicking it back a moment from his brow. Their eyes lock, and Draco kisses Potter without blinking. Using his touch to calm and distract, he caresses Harry's neck and shoulder, presses his lips along a collarbone and up over his mark to a stubbly jaw.

Harry groans softly, relaxing.

Draco spots some of the lubricant over his free fingers. Gently he nudges Harry farther back upon the pillows, bending his knees and angling him for access. He takes a breath when Harry does, both looking to one another for comfort, and then his slick fingers slide once over Harry's cock, cup his sac, and move down.

Harry's eyes pop a little behind his glasses, and he licks over his lower lip while Draco circles his entrance. One finger teases as it works inside. Harry's head lolls to the side slightly, and his eyes close, likely out of mild embarrassment. Draco keeps going, pushing through his own nerves, feeling Harry inside and out with a second finger for good measure, watching Harry's mouth open more with each thrust of them.

Draco uses just the one again and feels for what he knows is so wonderful. When Harry's eyes brighten and rest over him with mild shock, Draco smiles, rubs it gently, and then withdraws his hand.

“That...was....”

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

Draco leans up, kisses Harry's nose, and snickers, “It can only get _better_.”

Harry tries not to smile and fails. He grows interested observing Draco lubing himself, thoroughly distracted by the sight of the long, slick cock.

Draco sets the bottle on his nightstand nearby with the lamp and moves on his knees until he leans over Harry, lowering himself slowly for a kiss. Harry's arms wrap about him, trace his scars and shift to his back. Strong legs lift slightly around him as well with one warm foot brushing the backside of his calf.

Harry kisses him softly, and they smile together.

Draco exhales a little shakily, but palms Harry's sides, then hips and arse, lifting him lightly. One hand guides him, and he glances downward, teeth over his lip, until he feels himself start to enter. His breathing hitches in his chest, his heart pounding through his veins in excitement and weary need of long awaited desire.

Harry's expression tightens, and Draco halts, with the head of his cock inside the delicious warmth. Draco bends his head, kisses Harry's scar, cheek, and lips, and slowly Harry relaxes again, whispering in his ear, “Keep going.”

“Potter.”

“Malfoy,” Harry commands him with blazing green fire in his eyes. “Show me how you feel. Make me feel it.”

His soul aches within him. His heart bursts. Draco pushes forward with his hips, the lubricant sliding him in safely enough with his fingers' prior work. Harry sighs beneath him, and fingers dig into his back. Draco's mouth falls open when he's mostly inside, and it almost takes his breath then and there knowing just _whose_ body it is that holds him so intimately.

“ _Harry_ ,” Draco moans, stunned by the intensity of it all.

Not a single dream holds a candle to the reality. No fantasy he's ever concocted comes _close_. Emotions roar through him the way his blood does, rushing in his ears as he starts to move, to thrust carefully at first with his hips until he feels Harry go more lax about his legs and neck.

He's torn with what to feel, blissfully lost in Harry's scented woods of longing and ache, love and desperation. Draco wants this to go on forever, and he knows the only feeling that can _remotely_ top it is Harry topping _him_. He can't help but be mystified seeing his cock disappear and reappear into Potter's sexy bum. Harry's head throws back in pleasure. Draco himself moans, unable to hold it in any longer despite any worries of what he might sound like to Harry. The sounds are softer from him, slightly higher than his usual speaking range, but Harry seems to enjoy them, opening those green eyes up again to smile with them.

Potter looks so golden beneath him, contrasting with the dark waves of hair, black glasses still on his nose, and confident look settling more and more into Harry's face. Each thrust continues to establishes it, grows it within Draco himself, and he gives into it all; dropping his face to Harry's neck, he holds Harry's hips and gives Potter everything he's buried within him, all the emotions and pain and need he's restrained for _so_ fucking long. And Harry takes it wonderfully, moaning with teeth grazing his ear for extra heat to spur down Draco's spine and push him more.

His thrusts quicken, hips snapping with the movements. Flesh smacks in primal sound, and his heart squeezes more with each light slap of his sac to Harry's arse. His brain can barely handle the heated sensations wrapping around his cock with every sliding thrust.

“ _Mm_ ,” Harry grunts in his ear after Draco angles his hips slightly different. Draco follows suit, sweating and not caring, hips almost with a will of their own ushered on by Harry's continual sighs of desire.

He slows only to lift his face again, to witness Harry building the way he is, and he arches his stomach more when he feels one of Harry's palms slide down his back and under his belly for Harry to touch himself languidly.

All he knows looking at Potter's face is that it's everything he's ever wanted. All he feels is that love the bastard has so long inspired, hot and burning through him, giving him energy he didn't know he had. And all he wants is to scream it out, to get the growing pulse _out_ of him before it overwhelms him completely.

“Ah! _Yes_ ,” Harry moans below him. Soft lips gently touch over his chin and jaw. “You feel so...so _good_ , Draco. I didn't know it...could....”

Draco's breath steals from him in rapid exhales, and he barely gets enough to replenish himself. He whines, cuts his head to one side, then the other, feeling the pressure mount in his heart and the tightness in his lower half colliding.

He slides out enough to reposition and feels what had made Harry gasp earlier. His cock rubs it, teases it, and Harry sucks in air, shouting as he calls out excitedly. “Fuck! Holy _shit_!”

“Come for me, Harry,” Draco demands with an equally demanding kiss.

Harry moans into it, coming between them, the fluid spending across Draco's belly and chest. Draco feels the _deep_ satisfaction wash over him, and he angles one last time, fucking Harry right into the bed and pillows and going in all the way.

Harry barely has the energy to cling to him, but he tries, panting, “Come on, babe. _Come_ in me. I want t-to feel...”

He whimpers, trying so hard to let go.

And then, softly, Harry whispers into his ear three words.

Three very small words that rip him wide open and make him soar, like flying without a broom.

“Fuck! Harry, I...I— _mmmph_!” Draco grits his teeth, jerks his face, and buries it into Harry's throat with one final slam into Harry's body. The moan pulls from him so deeply, sounding so relieved and so fucking grateful, and he barely breathes while he comes, finally feeling _true_ completion for once in his fucking life as he empties inside of Harry.

Harry waits while Draco keeps his weight propped, blinking against Harry's skin in shock and wonder and total awe. His mind has blanked, his heart has filled itself again, and he feels _happy_. Utterly, truly, happy and at peace.

The tears come before he feels them, and he chokes against Harry, shuddering with his face still burrowed and his cock still warm inside. And Harry just holds him, rubs down his neck and back in long, comforting touches, silently communicating with them that it's okay. That he understands. It helps, but it makes him feel dumber for being emotional, for breaking the way he has in _happiness_ and _relief_ , of all things to crack his shell.

Half-tempted to wall back up in embarrassment, he makes himself lift his head. Harry's staring at him with wet eyes, too, like a green mirror of everything inside him reflecting perfectly back. Draco slowly kisses Harry, another sweet distraction for him to gently slide out of Harry's bum with minor shivers of sensual aftershocks. Harry holds his breath until Draco's out, and Draco finally fucking collapses upon Harry's torso, basking in the welcome of the arms holding him tight.

Lips press to his ear and then his hair.

Draco shudders again, body cooling off and mind beginning to sort itself. The power of what has just happened is still too much to understand, and those three words bounce about his brain on constant repeat.

Harry's cheekbone rests to the side of his head. “Feel better?”

“Infinitely,” he manages to say, voice hoarse.

“Good. Me, too.” Harry's fingers lazily stroke up his right arm.

Draco swallows, unable to pretend he hadn't heard those words. He twists his face to view Harry; the nervousness is strong again in those green eyes that wait for his walls while hoping against them. Draco's throat feels raw, but he requests, “Say it again.”

Harry stares into him, seeing everything so bare and baring himself in turn. Potter knows what he means. A palm cups his jaw with such tenderness that Draco inwardly fragments and heals from it.

“I love you,” Harry says without hesitation.

Draco quivers. Sighs. And whispers with visible courage in his grey eyes, “Love you, too.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [for those unfamiliar with the stone/color the chapter is titled from:  
> https://www.energymuse.com/carnelian-meaning
> 
> Also, this story has several chapters still coming. Please don't think this is the final chapter!]


	34. c e r i s e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

34.

 

c e r i s e

 

They take turns cleaning up in the bathroom, and Draco uses his wand to spell the sheets fresh during Harry's shower. He'd offered the bath upon seeing Potter emerge from the bathroom exhausted and _sore_ , Draco's dazed brain remembering the poor bloke had yet to even be _home_ the last days.

He sets some clothes out for Harry, changes into something comfortable for himself, and climbs back into bed to wait. Each passing second leaves him wondering when he'll wake up because surely this is a dream, the best he's ever had, the one most real and kind to him. Even so, lying there in the muted light of the barely burning amber lamp, Draco relaxes into the silk sheets, eyes closed, memory teasing him with how warm and loved he'd felt inside of Harry.

Neither speak after Potter returns with a towel, wet and still exhausted, but refreshed all the same. Harry smiles at him shyly, dressing in the clothes lying upon the bed waiting for him. He's not as tall, but still lengthy in his own way from head-to-toe, wild hair waving all about his brow and the hair down his chest drying still and looking like a gorgeous contrast all the way down to his groin, tightly v-ing from around Potter's sternum into a single thin, yet distinct line even in the minimal light. Draco's belly warms the slightest bit at seeing _his_ clothes over that tan skin with the thicker muscles of Potter's thighs making the pants even tighter than how they rest over Draco when he dons them.

His eyes silently commit the image of that gorgeous bulge to memory, adding it to impressions of touch and taste and sight of the cock he still wants buried inside of him soon.

Harry slides under the covers next to him. Soft lips press to Draco's shoulder. Draco brushes his fingers over Harry's brow, closes his eyes for one firm, long good night kiss, and tucks himself behind Harry when Potter rolls over for them to curl together.

The next morning when Draco wakes over Harry's chest, it all returns to him—the argument, him baring himself, him letting Harry in through every boundary during sex...and what it all means _combined_. Rather than be afraid again, he simply wonders what comes next in his continued decision of acceptance; his decision to help Harry against Voldemort was the first of such accepted changes, his abandoning of the Manor and protecting his little family the next. And now it seems to all circle _back_ to Harry in his life. The knowledge seems almost overwhelming in the best possible manner. For the first time in his life, Draco is _truly_ in some sort of relationship that isn't awkward, forced in some way, or a delicate balance of trial into what couldn't really be.

Draco knows, feeling Harry's sleeping strength beneath him, that he is utterly taken, captured, and without a doubt possessed by the Chosen One.

He exhales stunned nervousness and kisses the bared throat where his mark is quite red and visible. The very image of it is so settling, so worth every little step to see such a thing upon Potter's skin.

“Mm,” Harry murmurs sleepily. “Draco.”

Draco nuzzles his lover when Harry stretches comfortably below him. “Hm?”

“...time is it?”

He starts to move for his wand, but the grandfather clock in the house chimes ten.

Harry snickers softly above his head. “Oh.”

“Got somewhere to be?” Draco asks quietly, fingers stroking down Harry's bicep.

“Meeting at eleven,” Harry explains, moans softly and smiles. “But I'd rather stay in bed with you.”

“Seconded, Harry.” He lifts his face, strokes his hand across Harry's brow, and ruffles the hair there to reveal the famous scar he's despised and adored. Harry just stares at him from under heavy lids, glasses gone somewhere, clueless as to just what that scar means to Draco.

Excitement takes root inside of him the longer they stare at one another with quiet meaning. It lightens him, brightens him as much as it does the man in his bed, the pair appearing so similar with their matching expressions of curiosity.

Draco licks his lip, and Harry smiles, granting him eyes of open, unreserved love. “Babe?”

“What?” Draco asks, flustered by the pet name Potter has apparently assigned him.

“You're sure you're...okay with this?” Harry's thumb brushes his brow, tracing its arch. “With us?”

“Yes,” he answers readily, voice wavering not with fear but with positive anxious energy. Draco closes his eyes and kisses Harry once with firm assurance. “I'm tired of worrying. I'll struggle with...with Scorpius, but...I know I want whatever this is, regardless.”

Harry sighs, happily relieved. “Thank fuck.”

“Potter,” Draco laughs to himself.

“I'll be dealing with this matter at work for several days yet, but I promise to write and drop in when I can,” Harry says. His hand moves to run itself through Draco's silky hair. “That okay?”

Draco blushes slightly and shoves his cheek back to Harry's chest. “Of course it is. I'm not... _clingy_.”

Harry chuckles, his eyes taking in how Draco's curled over him so snugly. “If you say so.”

“Hush,” he snorts. Draco rests, happy and flushed and fine with the combination.

Harry takes a big breath, inhaling against his hair as though breathing him in, too.

“I'm sorry, by the way,” the soft apology whispers into the space around them. Before Draco can even question what Potter's sorry about, Harry continues, “I wish you'd told me before about everything. I know I did what I had to do that day we killed him, but I _am_ sorry I hurt you—that you felt you'd lost me. I didn't know, babe.”

Draco just shudders, but he relaxes into the petting of his hair and shoulder.

“Have you _now_ , don't I?” he mumbles against silk and skin.

“Yes, Draco. You do.” The words calm him as they affirm the tie between them. A large, broad palm rests over the curve of Draco's bum, and Harry grins. “You have an _amazing_ arse.”

“I know. So do _you_ , Potter,” Draco teases, moaning as Harry flexes his fingers and grips, massaging the muscle and adjusting Draco's leg over him enough to rub his erection to Draco's thigh. He grinds slightly to Harry's hip, intrigued. “ _Mm_. Don't start what you can't finish.”

Harry's eyes narrow playfully. “Oh, trust me, I can _finish_ it.”

“Thought you have a _meeting_ to prepare for?” Draco questions, gloriously turned on by the dare in Harry's promise.

“Oh...yeah. _Goddamn_ it.”

Draco keeps smiling. Harry does too, kissing his cheekbone and resting his curved lips there.

His lover promises to fulfill the rest of his desires soon, the whisper hot in his ear as the images come fast of Harry fucking him from behind with them both crying out. And then Harry kisses him one last time with longing and pushes out of bed, grudgingly grabbing his glasses on the other side of his pillow and changing into his prior clothes to Floo home and prepare.

“Harry,” Draco calls, resting on his side, elbow supporting him as he observes.

Potter glances up from tying his boots, and his handsome smile makes Draco want to yank him the fuck back into bed, meetings be damned. “Yeah?”

Draco bites his lower lip as the words speak themselves through him nervously. “I'm glad you're back. I...ugh, _you know_.”

“Missed me?” Harry eggs him on excitedly. “ _Love_ me?”

“ _Yes_ , you bastard, so shut up and go gloat elsewhere.”

The smile is blinding, brighter than the sun through the windows, when it beams back at him beneath those adoring green eyes. Harry comes close one last time, kisses him hotly, and speaks the three words in turn with almost magical fealty Draco sees, hears, and feels as it seals, as if with a spell, their futures entirely.

 

 

 


	35. l i b e r t y

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

35.

 

l i b e r t y

 

He floats through the rest of that day long after Potter has left, mind in a haze of splendid wonder. The swing calls his name for at least half an hour, supporting him while he watches an approaching set of clouds under his warming charm.  
  
Life is strange to him. Must be. Why else in the middle of bloody October can he see so much green still in the garden, or even so much blue between the clouds in the sky? Surely accepting his wants, his needs, and Potter's place in his life wouldn't change such little matters, he thinks. But some how, it does. Like the reflections of a crystal, he's come to see so many aspects and moments can exist around one thing, connecting them all.

His heart, he knows, feels like spring. And that, too, is a very strange thing.

Though he's quite pleased to have this new coveted secret to hold, Draco _has_ to talk to her about it. He needs to get the damn words out, the excitement still bubbling up inside of him like a bottle of champagne waiting to burst, making him feel simultaneously young and amusedly rolling his eyes at himself with maturity.

He knows she'll be _ridiculous_. He expects it, knowing he won't have to say a fucking word. Because while Pansy Parkinson might not have a single lick of Divination talent, she doesn't have to have any to read him like a book the second he sits down at their usual table the next day.

“ _Draco_ ,” she gasps loudly, startling half the guests around them. Dozens of pairs of eyes search over him quickly, looking for stains, spills, blood, _anything_ to justify that gasp.

He kicks her leg lightly to silence her and glares around the room, unable to avoid smirking at her anyway. “Must you?”

“Something's different. Something's happened. You're _glowing_. Even walked with that old confident strut of yours from school right up to the table, and I've never been so happy to see it,” Pansy recounts quietly, but her eyes are full and curious and totally on the hunt. She taps her manicured nails upon the table repetitively while he turns a bit red. “Tell me, tell me.”

Draco glances about to be sure the witches and wizards about them have gone back to their own business before he leans deftly across the table to grab the wine bottle and whispers under his breath, “We're a something. A couple or whatever. Fuck if I know the right words anymore.”

“Draco!” Pansy gapes dramatically behind her glass. She leans forward, eyes narrowing. “You'd _better_ not be putting me on. I will turn your hair pink and make it _permanent_ , so help me Salazar. I'll purchase fake knobs from that shop and hide them all over your house. You'll grab for the kettle and find a plug inside peeking up at you.”

Draco pours his wine, laughing warmly. “I'm not lying. And _don't_ even try that.”

“You're official? Truly?”

“Yes,” he says, unable to hold back his grin.

Pansy returns it in her shock, hand fluffing her long hair over her dark violet robes.

“How hard did he fight?” she asks, knowing him too fucking well. “I _know_ you didn't just cave, not without him proving himself to all your bloody doubts. And thank Merlin for that, too. Only Pott—only _he_ is stubborn enough to do it and break through to you.”

Draco rolls his eyes, sipping his glass. “He tried his way, felt bad and was going to give me space—you know, the whole 'don't want to impose' Gryffindor line of righteous crap. Perhaps it holds weight for others, but it set me off.”

Pansy huffs, blowing air into her fringe. “Of course. Waste of time at this point. It's stupid to be so _noble_ when you both know what's going on. Perhaps a while ago you'd have appreciated the thought, but now you need _reasons_ and proof and someone to _tell_ you it's okay by standing their ground. I know you. If you _really_ wanted him gone, he'd have been cut out of your life permanently ages ago.”

“Exactly. I was angry, very angry. I said more then than I'd meant to, but...I suppose I said enough. So he fought me...fought _for_ me, Pansy, yes. Dismantled my concerns and let me make the choice in the end. Took my hand when I offered it with my decision.”

For a tender moment, Pansy looks at him with unbridled happiness. And then it passes, and she becomes herself again, looking quite evil as her grin morphs into something devilish across the table. She leans, eyes gleaming. “Did you fuck?”

“ _Pansy_ ,” he grimaces, wondering if he should hex her tongue, even _in_ public.

“What!”

Draco doesn't answer her, choosing to remain silent even as his food is delivered with hers, thanks to her ordering his usual ahead of time. Any charms now would just draw attention, so it's only when they're alone again, and when he scans the closest tables one last time to be _sure_ people are quite distracted, that he murmurs eagerly, “ _Yes_.”

Pansy drops her fork onto the expensive plate, creating an obnoxious clattering sound that startles every patron there.

He winces, glares at her as she scrambles to pick it back up, and sends a sneer about the room until the rest ignore them again with scowls.

“Well? How was it? I must know!”

“Fuck's sake.”

“ _Draco_. You've waited for this since you were sixteen or seventeen, and I've been waiting _for you_ for it since your son was born and you _told_ me. Don't you dare hold out on me now.”

He swallows down a bit of pasta, then mumbles, “It was _fantastic_ , all right? _Nothing_ thus far in my life is comparable. Now shut up. I'm eating.”

“Wait, wait...who was... _you know_?” she asks, forgoing her cooling lunch in demand of his conversation. “ _Details_. Is he dominating? Does he groan or grunt? Is it as big as the naughty papers have always surmised? Did he take _you_?”

Draco blushes and stares at his plate awkwardly, whispering, “I cannot believe you want details _now_ , but yes, he can be dominating, you idiot. He does...both, and they're _hot_. I am _not_ describing _him_ to anyone else beyond saying it is _perfect_ , and if you _must_ know...I topped him.”

Her eyes pop dramatically. “You...he let you do _that_?”

“Yes,” Draco confides, cheeks rosy with wine and happiness. “He _told_ me to do it. Demanded it, even. Loved it, too. And waiting for...him, well...hopefully I've the patience with his work the next week. It's strange to say, but I...I need it. I think he might, too. I've not... _ached_ before for something like that outside of needing what _did_ happen between us.”

“Suppose that makes sense. I wouldn't know. Never have  _made love_ , only had fun.”

“We did not—” He pauses, eyes wide, remembering how he'd climaxed _precisely_ to those three words before repeating them in turn. At her little laugh, he grunts. “Oh, piss off.”

“Please tell me he calls you something silly.”

“Ugh.”

“He _does_ , doesn't he,” Pansy smirks triumphantly. “Of _course_.”

Draco smirks, fork in hand. “Babe, apparently. It's...weird, but...endearing, I suppose.”

“Draco, be honest. You know you love it.”

“It's...different,” he admits softly, looking away. His mind plays Harry's voice. “Astoria called me darling. Can't picture him saying that.”

“Merlin, me either,” she laughs, finally eating a bite of her food. “Got an atrocious name for him, too?”

“ _No_.”

“You mean not _yet_.”

Draco sneers, but continues eating and thinks to himself.

Pansy watches him finish his lunch in silence, nodding only when the server passes and asks if she wants to take hers along after. Draco coughs intentionally and snaps her out of the deep thinking she'd fallen into across from him.

“What?” he asks, drinking the last of his glass.

Pansy huffs, uses her napkin to blot at the corner of her wet eyes, and grunts, “My best mate has finally grown up. Merlin, I can't believe it. I can't wait to torture the both of you in the name of friendship.”

“I've been married and have a _son_ , you twit. I've been grown up well beyond the last decade.”

“Yes, but Draco, you've never had _this_ ,” she counters, perfect brow rising.

He takes the bait, huffing. “I know.”

Pansy rolls her dark eyes, lashes batting at him. “Good. Finally something you always should have had. Something accessible on all levels, and not something you have to refrain within. Something _right_ , even if it is with _him_ of all bloody people.”

“Will you _ever_ let that go?”

“Nope. I _do_ have to go back to work, though. Damn. I'll let you off for _now_.”

He purses his lips, brows arching in surprise when she offers to pay the tab for once. He strides with her out the door, shaking his head. “Really? _Now_ you do that?”

“Consider it a congratulations, Draco, but don't get used to it. I'm not buying lunch _every_ time the pair of you bum the hell out of each other,” she teases with a wink, kisses his cheek, and flaunts off back to safely Floo to her Ministry office.

Slowly he smiles and walks the other direction, back towards Diagon Alley, looking about all the clueless babbling people. They don't know his secret, but they all stare at him just as curiously as Pansy had, because she was spot on—the bit of strut is back in his legs and spine, the glint in his eye is sharper, and his head is held high.

For though he might be new to what the world truly looks like around him, he's still a proud Slytherin, still Draco Malfoy, and he knows he will adjust soon to the growing spectrum he sees with the same level of ambition, secret longing, and striking Malfoy confidence that's merely waited for him patiently all this time.  
  
  


 


	36. p e a r l

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

36.

 

p e a r l

 

 

_Scorpius,_

_Do not worry about exams as much as you have been, and stop letting Granger's girl outwit the both of you on your Transfiguration project; for the cleverness of_ two _Slytherins is better than one Gryffindor, even if she_ does _take after her mother, and the three of you combined will take the highest rank in class. Neither you nor Albus will struggle beyond what anxiety you place upon yourselves in other classes. I will have someone contact a bloke I recall being quite skilled in Herbology, so look for an owl likely next week or so for study help. You've plenty of time, over a month yet, and regardless, you will be absolutely fine. Do only your best, not what you think others expect you to do._

_I wish you were home as well. I look forward to Christmas holiday. I miss her, too. The house hasn't been too empty lately, and I promise I've not been left entirely alone. Focus over what you must and don't concern yourself over me so much, Scorpius. I'm doing well. I'm...happy, actually._

_There's something I wish to discuss with you when you come home—something important about me. I should have told you a long time ago, but adult matters are often hard to explain, and I hadn't...expected...life to actually indulge me in a way that didn't punish me for it. Perhaps there's hope for me yet, as your mother used to tease._

Draco stops writing, his trembling hand almost spilling ink everywhere.

His breathing rapidly circulates about his lungs the way his blood has through his heart into those shaky fingers, and Draco leans back in his study chair with his eyes tightly shut.

Memory fills him of a witch's hateful stare, of words his son thankfully hadn't entirely remembered over the years. She'd called Scorpius _a Malfoy's_ _atrocious spawn_ among other horrific, derivative nonsense, and Astoria and Draco had both terrified half the customers out of the shop with a mutual look of venomous promise before the owner herself had tossed the rest of the lot out on their robed arses. It's why he _still_ purchases his Dreamless Sleep from the old witch.

Draco had always known that regardless of his aid with Harry there at the end that some wouldn't let the rest go...or let his _father's_ actions go, and so brand him for that debt as well. It's why he feared for Scorpius and kept him so reclusive as a child for far too long until Astoria's prodding slowly loosened his tight leash of protection.

Maybe it's too early to hint at the need to talk. Maybe he shouldn't at all. But the idea of bringing his son home from the train with the fears keeping his mouth partially closed constantly isn't a comforting option, and he worries that Harry might speak with his children before Draco may tell Scorpius over the break when it comes.

The truth is that what he needs to say isn't just about his sexuality. It's an apology for the seclusion, the silence, and the distance each year of Scorpius's life. It's a chance to show he's more than he thinks he is as a father and a chance to prove to himself and Harry how seriously he _is_ taking what's between them. He must tell his son his everything in order to tell him the rest, because if Scorpius understands Draco's past with the War and with Potter, then perhaps he can better accept his future with Harry in his life...or even understand his strange father he's wondered about for so long.

Debate rages within him, and minutes of silence extend into hours of loneliness, and just before he decides to scrap the letter by crumbling it and tossing it into the fire, he hears the little rap from the owl he remembered bringing Astoria letters.

Quickly he lets it in the study window, nervously eyeing the bird and its parchment.

“Don't know your name,” he grunts, but slides the drawer out anyway and extends a treat, smirking when the owl plucks it eagerly while he takes the rolled letter.

Draco breaks the seal, grinning, not even hearing the owl fly out again as he reads:  _Draco, I've got Lily tonight, or I'd be in bed with you. Wanted to tell you goodnight and not to worry about whatever it is you likely are at this hour. After the past months, well...call it a hunch. Miss you, babe. Hope to see you soon. Love, Harry._

“Love, Harry,” he rereads aloud, smiling to himself.

Grey eyes wander from the paper in his hand to the one upon his desk still waiting for his decision. The tremble returns to his fingers as Harry's letter falls upon his lap to rest, and his hand plucks his raven's quill from its holder, words traveling the distance to the parchment straight from his aching heart.

_No matter what I've to say or how exams or holidays go, just remember that you are my son, Scorpius, and nothing is more important to me than your happiness, health, and safety. Enjoy the Great Hall with its pumpkins soon. I know you did last year, and I always had as well at your age._

_All my love,_

_Father  
_

He stares at it while the ink dries, with much softer eyes and hands that no longer tremble, leaving the letter upon his desk for sending in the morrow.

Draco sleeps that night with tentative hope that his son will accept him for everything he is, and when he dreams of her in the garden in eternal spring, sitting on the swing with a cup of tea, she whispers to him with her smiling red lips reassurances his subconscious stows away by the time he wakes.

   
  
  
  


 


	37. r u b y

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

37.

 

r u b y

 

Clouds pass, nights sleep, and his lover seems so out of reach, tiredly owl'ing more notes almost nightly over the course of the trial. With each passing day up to Halloween full of Harry's complaints of work and his equally desperate desire to see Draco, Draco gets as fed up with the waiting and decides to do something a bit rash for a change—something exciting, full of temptation, and utterly wicked as he passes through a small crowd of people talking and following signs.

For the first time, Draco walks through the Ministry to the Aurors' offices.

Dressed in dark grey trousers, polished shoes, and a snug, handsome emerald cashmere jumper, he catches every eye and every bit of attention the second he approaches the secretarial desks.

The witch behind the main area stares at him, her old blue eyes popping out of her head upon the recognition. She immediately pulls herself together, though she appears frazzled nonetheless with her hair haphazardly falling from its pins under her hat.

Draco's eyes narrow as the judgment quickly passes through her gaze at his final few steps.

She coughs. A polite attempt at a hope he'll go away.

“I'm here for Potter,” he says without hesitation in a firm voice, refusing to show the little shake he does feel inside with the slight bit of nervousness from initiating the visit.

The secretary pales somewhat, and her fingers nervously tap her desk.

Draco ignores the glances from random passersby in the hall behind him and grunts one more time, “Potter.”

“I heard you,” she grunts back, blue eyes roaming him quickly and darting away. “I'm afraid that's impossible.”

“Impossible.”

“Yes.”

“And, pray tell, why?”

“Because you must make appointments to see Mr. Potter.”

Annoyed now, Draco stands his ground, unyielding and unsurprised at the treatment. “Then make one. Now. For today.”

“He's quite booked. Full through next month, I'm afraid,” the witch babbles, not even looking at him anymore but at a moving photo on the desk of what appears to be a grandchild. “So sorry. Please go away.”

“Think I'll wait,” Draco murmurs and crosses his arms defiantly.

Clearly unnerved, the witch finally stares at him again. “I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you can't make an appointment. He's busy all day.”

“It's lunch. Go get him.”

“I won't ask you again, sir. Please leave.”

Draco leans against her desk, cold grey eyes ungiving. Instantly she recoils backwards into her chair with a hand over chest. He sneers, disgusted.

“Go away, or I alert security,” she threatens, terrified of his scowl.

Draco snorts. “For what? Not doing your own job? I've come to see Potter, and believe me, he'll want to see me.”

“ _Mr. Malfoy_ ,” she mumbles as he leans closer.

“Yes. That _is_ my name,” he snipes. “The _only_ thing any of you twits seem to ever recall, naturally.”

And suddenly her eyes dart roundly to something behind him, and Draco feels Harry's presence before he even hears his lover speak.

“Draco?” Harry greets him, happily surprised.

Draco withdraws over the desk and looks to the side, lip lifting into a half-smile. “Potter.”

Harry elbows him and stands near the desk, looking dashing in his uniform and shocking the hell out of his secretary with the friendliness. “What are you up to? Business meeting?”

“Thought I'd see you after, yes,” Draco admits before turning to sneer at the secretary again. “But apparently _that_ isn't possible.”

“What?” Harry asks confusedly. He shifts with a frown. “Vera?”

Vera does the polite cough again, and Draco rolls his eyes. “Mr. Potter, sir.”

“Why wasn't Draco sent to my office?”

“Because I don't have an _appointment_ ,” Draco answers for her, watching her blue eyes glare at him with inner glee. “And when I offered to wait, I was threatened with a possible security alert.”

Green eyes he's missed flare over Vera with something dangerously startling. “Excuse me?”

The witch's fingers grasp over the ends of her robe sleeves. “You're booked full, sir, and he wouldn't leave. Became aggressive. He almost came across the desk!”

“I merely proved a point by showing how ridiculously afraid you are of nothing,” Draco growls at her, infuriated. “Such a _grand_ welcome. Truly.”

The angry retort begins to storm from her lips, but Harry is faster and sincerely angry as fuck.

“You threatened to alert security when he offered to wait?” Harry demands, voice baiting as _he_ leans across the desk now. “I don't give a crap what my schedule says, Vera, you _know_ I updated my preference list this week and that Draco is at the top. If he _ever_ comes in here asking to see me, he's asked to wait until I can free my office, and I'm to be notified the second he sits in one of these chairs.”

Vera swallows shakily. “I...I thought you misspoke and wished him on the banned list. It made more sense.”

Draco's mouth tightens.

Harry's does as well as he speaks slowly, harshly. “No. I did _not_ misspeak. He is very important and should be treated as such. No matter how much you'd like to forget that it was _his_ wand I used that day, it was, and he is not my enemy at all—not _anyone's_. And he is _not_ his father. I expect him to _never_ be treated this way again, or you will find yourself replaced. Is that understood?”

The witch's hat bows a little as she looks down, uncomfortable and nodding.

“Draco, would you like an apology now or in writing?” Harry asks him, still watching Vera closely.

Draco sighs, knowing they've wasted enough of Harry's lunch with the stupid woman. “Neither, Potter, your anger is enough. Let's go while I _don't_ need an appointment to see you.”

“Fine. Vera, I will check later to see if that list has been properly updated,” Harry grumbles and motions for Draco to follow, both of them leaving behind a silent room of Aurors, visitors, and a very flushed secretary.

Draco's eyes drop in the empty back corridor to Harry's bum, the sight soothing him by ruffling his feathers in a different way.

He enters Harry's office, brows rising at the warm woods not unlike his own study. Books are stacked everywhere with boxes of parchments. Odd knickknacks and items line parts of shelves, some kept in glasses and others magically sealed with notes over their displays. The desk is large like he'd hoped it would be, and he marks it mentally for the next fantasy he hopes to conjure in his sleep and, possibly one day, in reality.

Harry shuts the door behind them, locks it and casts a strong _Muffliato_ and another spell or two to secure their privacy, similar to how he'd made that shroud of invisible magic for their date on the roof of his flat.

Draco's lips curl into a relieved smile the instant he feels the strong arms slide about his middle, and the tip of a nose rubs across the back of his shoulder.

“I missed you,” Harry mumbles with a kiss to the nape of his neck. “I'm so sorry about what happened out front. It will _not_ happen again, babe, I swear it.”

“It was pleasant to see you blow up on someone _not me_ for a change,” Draco teases, fingers patting the ones splayed over his stomach. “Wasn't sure if I should take the risk coming here, but...I...I wanted to...see you.”

Harry sighs behind him and shifts, letting go enough to lead Draco to the desk where Harry plops down into his large chair behind it. “I know. I'm sorry. Told you this case would be a lot to handle. I've also had Lily more this past week with Ginny having to help judge for one of the team's replacements.”

Draco settles next to Harry, bum against the desk and arms comfortably resting over his chest. “I understand, Harry. I'm not upset about it. Just...missed you popping through the Floo.”

Harry smiles up at him so warmly, and then his green eyes dart across Draco's similarly green jumper with desire. “I love that shade of green on you.”  
  
“Of course you would, Potter.”

“What? Slytherin colors are what I know you by.”

“This _isn't_ that shade, and you know it. It matches your eyes.”

Harry's lip twists to the side as he tries not to grin.

Draco snickers. “Admit it, Potter. You like seeing me in _your_ color.”

“Yeah, so. Shut up,” Harry murmurs with a slight laugh, making him laugh in turn. “Things okay? You've not written very much back recently.”

Draco shrugs nonchalantly. “It's just been the usual, which isn't much. I've rearranged some of my study, and I wrote Scorpius a few nights ago.”

Harry, observant as always, catches the change in his tone. “Go all right?”

“I hope so. He's not replied yet,” Draco admits, glancing to the floor where his ankles have crossed themselves. “Harry, I told him I want to talk when he comes home for break, and that I'm happy. That nothing matters to me more than he does.”

“Of course,” Harry agrees, completely understanding.

“And I need a favor.”

“Name it.”

His smile is grateful at Harry's quick offer. “I need you to contact Longbottom.”

Harry gives him an odd look. “Sure. What for?”

“Our sons are concerned about Herbology exams.”

“Al hasn't mentioned anything to me,” Harry says, frowning and glancing to one of the shelves. “Wonder why.”

Draco sighs. “Who knows. Perhaps he knew Scorpius would speak with me and wished to avoid redundancy.”

“Or maybe he's mad at me still,” Harry whispers, those beloved green eyes closing. “Damn it.”

Fingers lift Harry's chin intently for grey eyes to peruse his face. “Help them instead of focusing on that part. That's what you're best at, isn't it? Helping. So see if Longbottom's willing to put together some study information. I would appreciate it.”

Harry nods, then tilts his face to kiss Draco's wrist. “I will, don't worry.”

“Thanks.” Draco glances to the large, formal clock on the wall. He huffs, wishing they had more time. “I should go. You've ten minutes left, and I don't know what else needs done before your next appointment.”

Harry snags his wrist and holds on tight. “Nothing, so just hang on. That's ten minutes to snog you.”

Draco chuckles, then considers the chair Harry sits upon, gauges the height of the higher arms.

Harry watches him with a smile. “What are you doing?”

“Get up.”

“For?” the question breathes out of Harry with a rush.

His eyes smolder. “Can't snog you in that chair, idiot.”

Harry bites his smirking lip, aroused. “Then where? The desk?”

“Let's save that desk for more nefarious purposes requiring additional time, hm?” Draco teases and stands before the chair, then looks over his shoulder to one of the others in the room for visitors. He steps over to the armless one and taps the top of it. “Sit here for now.”

Intrigued, Harry obeys, striding over to relax into the armless leather one, his dark brow cocked and curious.

Draco's leg slides, and he straddles Harry's lap, palms already embracing cheekbones as his head bends close. The moan bubbles out of him, soft and satisfied when their first kiss deepens with eager tongues and slanting jaws.

He grinds his erection to Harry's groin, feeling the hardness hidden there behind the uniform and trousers waiting for him. “Are you handling the case well?”

“Y-Yeah,” Harry replies, kissing his throat. “Just troublesome with the boundary crossing and thefts everywhere. Jurisdiction arguments, the like.”

“Ah. And when it's over?”

Harry's brow arches over his smug look. “Then I might take a few days off to relax.”

Draco nods, fingers embedding in Harry's dark hair. A firm kiss, then, “Harry?”

“Mm?” Harry questions, hands sliding down to cup Draco's arse quite eagerly.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” Draco replies and drops his hands to Harry's belt, so bold and daring that his heart is pounding with the emotions. “Because I've an idea.”

Harry laughs and licks up his throat. “And I support your ideas, you clever snake. Whatever it is, go for it quick.”

Draco doesn't speak, too focused over opening the trousers and tugging Harry's hard cock out of the black pants under them. Potter's breath catches, and he grunts when Draco lets go to quickly work on his own trousers a moment. Dark brows arch happily, and Draco swipes his tongue over Harry's lip with a hot open mouthed kiss the instant his hand holds them against one another.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry hisses between his teeth. “Great idea.”

“I _know_ ,” Draco mumbles, lips pressing to Harry's jaw and up his cheek.

Hips thrust and shift, and both of them moan as quietly as possible with the hardness between them warmly held by his stroking fingers. Draco kisses Harry again, then leans his face down and lays his cheek to his lover's, one arm wrapping around the back of Harry's head and neck. A sensual mouth teases over his neck, and Harry keeps palming his arse with tighter grips that quickly become dragging motions that pull them into a tight, pleasured grind; Draco tries to reign in the deep moan inspired by Harry's actions, and what sound escapes him is thankfully caught by the charms over the door and wall.

“ _Mmmm_ ,” Draco exhales into Harry's ear, hard and desperate and knowing they have so little time. “Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do this, Potter? Years. _Years_ , you arsehole.”

“Sometimes I really love how stubborn you are.”

The laugh is merry and sexy, bursting from him in time to the beat of his hand that palms across their tips simultaneously. Harry's thick cock feels so good against his, so solid and real as Potter does below him with his strong thighs and demanding green eyes. Fingertips get slick as they both grow close and eager, mouths hungrily kissing.

“Let go,” Harry whispers, and Draco does, looping both arms around Harry's neck and dropping his head backwards when he feels the rough hand take the lead, squeezing both of them so damn well that Draco's stomach clenches.

Harry's breathing paces with his, and Draco buries his face in Harry's throat, nuzzling and lifting his hips to continue the mind-blowing grind with thrusts into the strong fingers. A tongue licks at his ear and downward, and he shivers with desire.

“Come with me,” he hears, the words a magical spell commanding him.

“Mmph! _Yes_.” Draco's teeth flatten over his lip, his hips shift harder with Harry's long, fantastic stroke of them both, and he comes, feeling when Harry follows him over that edge not a breath after, sighing in relief.

They alternate inhales and exhales, trying to slow their heart rates with matching smiles, and the clock chimes briskly over his shoulder, as if with an _ahem_.

Draco snorts, entirely amused. “How _punctual_ of you, Potter.”

“ _Draco_ ,” Harry winks. “Merlin, babe, I needed this. Needed to see you.”

Sultry eyes smile, quite aware of Harry's close study of them while Draco confesses, “Me, too. Think I should make an appointment when I leave? You know, since you're _so_ busy. Four o'clock, Tuesday the second, to be bent over your desk, please.”

The grin is wide and silly over Harry's lips. “Vera would _die_. And besides, I can bend you over your desk sooner than that, if a desk _must_ be involved.”

“Promises, _promises_ , Potter.”

Harry breaks out laughing beneath him, beautifully happy, still grinning like a lovesick fool long after Draco has spelled them both clean, done up his trousers, and kissed his love farewell.

   


 


	38. p l u m

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ Can be read aloud for maximum effect.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

 

 

38.

 

p l u m

 

Routine over the last months fell into such a foreign concept, a returned theme of life from before the shock of her illness and before he'd sent his son off on a train for the first time. Though more of a subtle something in his life compared to its role in that of others' with its gentle reminders of tea, a clock chime of an errand or two, a swing, and a book in his hand, it was there nonetheless in its own way. It was stolen the way she was, robbed of life and purpose to give, and part of his mind wonders if in the moment she'd passed in his arms that she'd taken it with her energy and sad red smile.

Luckily, his new partner, his first _true_ romantic partner, has new routine to spare and share, enveloping Draco's listless heart in the storms of loneliness by showing him its ropes slowly but surely to catch him should he fall.

Thus, routine returns to him over the first part of November, but its subtle role has changed.

It becomes having dinner with Harry twice a week, cooking together or bringing prepared foods from a shop to share in Draco's dining room and sometimes his kitchen, hands holding dripping spoons for matching quiet smiles to taste. It renames Astoria's chair as Harry's without any disrespect to the woman who occupied it prior. It is full of warmth with Harry sleeping over if possible, cuddling with him on the sofa before the fire and falling asleep in the exhaustion Harry hides too well between stresses of his highly demanding job and the constant worry over his children's happiness. And it is also sweetly present each time Draco rouses the Gryffindor of his life aware enough to relocate to the bed to hold Harry through the night.

Such little changes and yet more. So much more.

Routine smiles now hold his lips wonderfully captive for seemingly hours sometimes, and routine laughs joyfully escape when he and Harry tease one another over old silly memories. Routine looks at his reflection in the mirror keep encouraging confidence in himself and his body, his sexual appeal to the one he's fated to love. And routine touches him, inside and out, strokes his hard cock the nights Harry isn't there to sleepily do so with firm knowing fingers.

Routine kisses and tongues and sighs flame the fire in Draco so that it swells that still present need of having Harry deep inside of him—a way to fill the hollowness hiding behind his happiness and shoved away fears. He knows it's something well beyond sex, something much more like how it was being _inside_ _of_ Harry, and he worries that perhaps it's too soon to ask for when Harry is clearly caught between giving his all at work, trying to prove to his children near or far that he's the same father, and spending any left over energy he has being near Draco himself.

Draco wakes once to Harry holding his hip and grinding against him, murmuring his name; he grinds back a little, biting his lip at the sexy grumbles behind him before understanding Potter is quite asleep, breathing deeply as he slows and stops again and leaving Draco half-erect with an amused smile.

On the morning in mid-November when they wake rather energetically, desperate and hard, an owl interrupts their wonderful progress with a letter from Ginny that drains all that energy elsewhere. Harry is quickly through the Floo, owl'ing him later while spending the next three nights at Ginny's house, helping her care for Lily through a small illness the girl had caught from a friend. Draco, for his part, feels guilty for missing Harry because he knows what it's like to have a sick child and grow so intensely focused; the few instances of Scorpius having any mild colds had scared Astoria and Draco enough to render them overprotective, given the blood curse's history.

Two days later, he taps his fingers in his study chair on the early Saturday morning, debating what to do because he feels he should do _something_. Lily isn't his child, but she is Harry's, and she has grown to have her own importance to him, too, outside of that fact...something he suspects Astoria would be cooing over if she got the chance.

The decision is made, and an hour later he's gone to Diagon Alley and trudges up the stairs to the flat, a potion brewed specially for the girl and a box of chocolates decked with a green ribbon in his arms beneath his cloak. Harry had sent a bird the night before that he had a work matter and might be home in the morning, and as the potion is too freshly brewed to leave sitting about for long, Draco figures trying the door is at least worth the effort to get it to Lily sooner.

The door knob turns, relieving him, and then Ginny opens the door in a robe and nightclothes, her hair ruffled and eyes somewhat sleepy still.

Draco's heart hits his stomach, and he almost drops the gifts in his hands in total confusion.

Ginny's eyes widen as they stare at each other in shock.

A minute stretches where neither move or breathe, and then, awkwardly Draco gives her the bottle of potion meant to soothe Lily's throat and the box of coconut with rum wrapped chocolates.

“For Lily,” he mumbles. “Tell Harry...never mind.”

“Malfoy,” Ginny says, sounding oddly regretful. “Wait.”

He shakes his head, sick with confusion and anxiety, and turns away.

The door creaks more on those stairs behind him, and muffled voices speak quickly before the stomping of wood chases after him, Harry's soft voice calling his name.

“Draco? Draco, wait,” Harry begs, stepping outside looking just as ruffled in a robe as Ginny does. Draco stands still, jaw locked, heart running through many awful thoughts he knows aren't true and couldn't be, but they scream at him regardless. “What's going on?”

Draco sighs, totally uncomfortable and nods his head to the items in Ginny's hands. “I got your note last night and had a potion made for Lily this morning. Just wanted to get it to her while it was fresh. Hadn't meant to intrude. I'd imagined you'd be here momentarily before returning to them at _her_ place.”

“You're not intruding, and I _seriously_ appreciate the gesture,” Harry replies, hand grabbing his wrist tightly. Draco tugs against it instinctively in stiff, upset reflex with Ginny's eyes watching so closely. “Babe, stop, please.”

Draco looks between the divorced couple, frowning when she has no surprised response to Harry's term of affection for him. His head snaps to stare at Harry. “You told her.”

Harry flinches, then steps closer, eyes wet and worried after he, too, glances to Ginny. “Yes, Draco.”

Draco looks to the dark grey sky a moment, wishing Astoria would whisper what to say. He blows out warm breath into the cold air, stating, “The potion is meant for mixing in hot chocolate. It will aid her throat. The other...is just a silly present.”

“You can give her the box, yourself. Come with me.”

“No. I'm going home. It's fine.”

“Please,” Harry tries again.

“ _Stop_ it.” Draco jerks his hand free, grey eyes as afraid of the steps echoing down the main thoroughfare close by as they are of the heavy stare from Harry's ex-wife watching them with her arms crossed. Harry's eyes close sadly. Draco tries to relax the tension in his jaw.

“Draco,” Harry begins, hands spreading open without knowing what else to do, “I had to deal with an emergency at work, and when I was released late I owl'ed you. Ginny was worried over her fever, and Lily was upset, and she—”

“That's not—look, you don't have to tell me everything, Harry. Your child—your family—is your business, and I respect that. I'm just....” He checks the street, waiting as a pair of elderly wizards stroll far past and ignore their alley. He sighs, fully ignoring Ginny next to them. “I'm...not part of that, and it's fine. I accomplished what I'd come to do. And I'm not ready to be outed to the entire Alley because you're emotional. Stop being so concerned, Harry.”

Ginny's brow rises, and her face softens just enough somehow.

Harry groans, glancing down the walk way as well. “Crap, sorry. I don't want to upset you. But Draco, what do you mean, not part of it? We're _together_. Just come inside, please. Lily would be happy to see you.”

“I'll...the eggs will burn,” Ginny murmurs and goes back inside, leaving the door open as she quickly runs for the cooker.

Draco glances away, head pounding with an emotional headache. He pats Harry's shoulder and turns for the stairs again. “Don't, Potter. Your family needs you. I'll see you later.”

Harry grunts and loops arms around his neck.

“Stubborn fucking snake,” he grumbles, then jerks Draco slightly through the doorway and kisses him right then and there. Mouths touch, tongues caress, and Draco gives in a little, wanting assurance.

“You _are_ part of my family,” Harry argues point blank when he catches a breath, green eyes fierce behind fallen dark waves of hair. Harry's hands cup his jaw on either side and lower Draco's handsome face so their noses brush. “You're my _partner_ , Draco, and I love you.”

“Harry,” he hisses, grey eyes darting to the sounds in the kitchenette so close.

“Were you serious about _us_ being real?”

“Yes,” Draco admits, though he shakes the smallest bit, feeling entirely in spotlight.

Harry smiles, thumb rubbing his jaw line. “Then come on, babe. Have breakfast.”

Draco softly laughs. “I appreciate it, but now doesn't seem like—”

“Are you two staying in here, or what? It's getting cold. Shut the door, at least. Harry, I managed to save the eggs,” Ginny suddenly speaks from the kitchenette doorway, startling them both at the flat's door. The redhead stares at them with no surprise or shock, almost taking amusement from their mirrored looks of _oops_ in front of her as Harry has _yet_ to let go of him. “I'm starving, Lily's going to wake soon, and though it's _nice_ to see Malfoy trying to be _considerate_ , I'm getting over it quickly.”

“Ginny,” Harry whispers, letting go of Draco's face and turning to face her better. “I....”

Her palm silences him, and her eyes never stray from Draco's own. “You moved faster on than I was prepared for, I'll admit, but it's been coming for months now, and it's your business. I had suspicions since I saw a mark on Harry's neck a few weeks ago, and Harry told me about the pair of you last night.”

Harry blushes next to him, and Draco's jaw drops.

Ginny steps closer in her slippers, robe tight around her in the cold air as she shuts the flat's door. Draco fights the instinctual sneer that threatens his expression, and Harry subtly angles between them. Ginny huffs at Harry's obvious stance and smirks. “Relax, Harry. I'm not hexing him. Thanks for what you brought, Malfoy, and go sit down already.”

Harry bites his lip and looks to Draco, hopeful, leaving Draco to stare at the pair of them in total discombobulation. Harry holds his hand out, waiting.

And Draco takes it, warm and fluttery inside holding it so boldly, then catches Ginny's eye again, a confident smirk in his gaze. “How do I know you haven't just poisoned one of those eggs in case I'd eat it?”

Ginny slowly smiles. “You don't.”

“Lovely,” Draco gripes, flustered at her teasing. Harry, tired of waiting, tugs him back to the table and asks for his cloak and robes, moving to hang them while Draco takes a seat and adjusts his black jumper for comfort.

Ginny doesn't speak when she moves past him, but Draco notices her look away with a sort of sad, smiling acceptance.

Harry moves about, putting eggs on plates and preparing toast. “You said her potion goes in hot chocolate?”

“It's crafted for it, yes, for taste and texture,” Draco explains, thanking Harry for the plate sat in front of him.

“Who made it?” Ginny asks, interested, as she grabs cups for the whistling kettle.

Draco glances to her. “Owner of the shop down the street. Madame Blanche. I've used her for years with Astoria's needs or my own.”

Ginny laughs, brows up. “One of my teammates uses her shop. Says she scares him too much to try elsewhere.”

“She _is_ terrifying,” Draco agrees, smiling and relaxing finally.

They all pause when they hear muffled steps coming through the flat, and then Lily stands there, wiping her eyes in confusion as she sees her parents and Draco gathered near the table.

Draco watches her blink a few times, then squint. “Mr. Malfoy? Mum, is that really him, or is my fever on again?”

“It's me,” he answers, smiling gently. Draco ignores Harry and Ginny both and flicks his wand with a soft _Accio_ , catching the box that comes to his command. He holds it out to the girl, enjoying the way she lights up between rough coughs. “I heard you were sick.”

“It's all Edgar's fault,” Lily pouts. “He _coughed_ on me to prove he was sick.”

“Shame on him. Shall I teach him a lesson, or do you think his own illness is punishment enough?”

Lily muses, lips twisting. “Well, his mum said _he's_ vomiting, and I'm not, so I suppose that's worse.”

Draco snickers, adoring her logic. “Good, then. Wouldn't want to waste these on you,” he teases and holds out the chocolates.

Lily brightens, the grin big and showing her teeth as she takes the box and tears the ribbon, plopping into the chair next to him to pop the lid open on the table. She scans the contents, all _twelve_ of them, and turns that grin back to him.

“Coconut with rum,” she murmurs, looking so happy even in her tiredness.

Draco's heart expands at that adoration, and he nods and plucks one of the wrapped chocolates out to sit by her fingers. “One for breakfast. Don't gorge on the rest later. They _are_ rich.”

“Mum says I can't have sweets for breakfast, though.”

“Yes, well, your mum didn't purchase them,” Draco counters, brow proudly mimicking Ginny's with Harry's ex leaning against the counter, smirking at him. He closes the box lid. “One for breakfast, and a hot chocolate, too.”

“I _like_ Mr. Malfoy, Mum. Dad, can I really have hot chocolate as well?”

“Of course. Draco brought you some medicine that blends with it,” Harry confirms, winking at his daughter. “Though he might have to make it for you. I know you _hate_ mine.”

Draco scoffs. “Surely your hot chocolate isn't horrendous, Potter.”

Lily scrunches her nose. “He makes it too thick.”

“Well, can't have that, can we? The point is to make your throat _better_ ,” Draco grumbles, shaking his head decisively. “Sit and eat. I'll whip up the kind Scorpius likes.”

“He's my brother's best friend,” Lily tells him, already chewing on her breakfast chocolate. “He and my cousin Rose are always with my brother at school.”

Draco smiles to himself, taking a small saucepan from Harry to cook. “I know.”

“Isn't it funny? They're friends, and you're Dad's friend, but Dad calls you something else. What does partner mean?”

All three adults freeze simultaneously.

Ginny's eyes widen hilariously. Harry's mouth falls open. And Draco slowly lowers the pan to the cooker's top after nearly dropping it with a loud crash, heart racing in his chest.

“Um, ah, Lily, I haven't...when did you...?” Harry asks, recovering first and clearing this throat.

But Potter's daughter isn't about to be placated in such a way, and she shakes her head, then stares Draco's direction. Lily sighs and pats the box nearby, fingers toying with the ribbon. “Did you know parents think they're being quiet when they're _really_ being loud?”

Draco bites his lip. Harry groans. And Ginny watches Harry closely.

“What did you hear?” Harry asks, removing his glasses to rub at his eyelids.

Lily glances between her father and Draco himself, shyly smiling. “Nothing.”

Ginny sits down next to her daughter, concerned. “Lily, please tell us.”

“No, _you_ tell me. What does partner mean? Like Uncle Ron at work?”

Draco watches the milk heating, trying not to focus on the worry in Harry's angled body beside him. Harry is entirely red faced, sputtering, “Um...no. It...ah, it means....”

“Merlin's beard, Harry,” Ginny sighs and pats Lily's hand. “It means, Lily, that Daddy has a boyfriend.”

“Ginny!”

“Well, duh. I knew _that_. Dad kissed him a while ago.”

“Oh my God,” Harry moans, covering his face. “What? When did you...see....?”

Draco stands speechless, stirring in the potion and some melted chocolates mindlessly and wondering if he should just Disapparate after all. His cheeks are as hot and red as Harry's are.

“Harry, seriously, you're ridiculously obvious,” Ginny says gruffly, but even Draco can hear the bit of teasing laughter in her tone.  
  
“When I ran away, Mr. Malfoy brought me back here, and you kissed him at the door," Lily informs them. "Dad's only ever kissed Mum that way before."

“You _couldn't_ have seen that," Harry argues, embarrassed and terrified. "You were drinking your juice in here then.”

“I did, too! I beat James in the leaning chair contest, remember! I can lean pretty far. Wanna see?”

“No, Lily, you're _sick_. _Stop_. I believe you.”

Torn between the absurd urge to laugh, scream, and disappear as the chair legs ease back to the floor with a soft thud, Draco merely chokes and removes the pot from the heat. “It's done.”

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Ginny quickly says and stands up to pour Lily a cup of the hot liquid. “Lily, drink all of it. There's medicine brewed in.”

Lily sends Draco a smile. “I will.”

Harry takes Ginny's chair and holds his daughter's hand, appearing so unsure of what to say and how to proceed, and Draco falls all the more endeared to Lily Luna Potter as she squeezes her father's fingers and tells him to stop being silly.

“Silly? Lily, I'm _worried_. I don't want you to think...I don't.... I....”

“ _Dad_.”

“Lily, seriously, if you're upset we need to talk. I was planning to tell you during break when your brothers would be here, but...I guess I didn't think about how hard it might be to hide things from you. You're too smart,” Harry confesses, moving closer to hug Lily to him. “It's okay if you're angry with me. It's okay to be upset or mad. I know it's...fast with the divorce, and I wish I could...explain, but it's...hard to. He's been important to me for a _very_ long time, since before you were born, so...so don't be angry with Draco, okay?”

Draco briefly closes his eyes, feeling guilty and awful.

But Lily merely looks his way, accepting the cup from her quiet mother with a contemplative expression. And then she smiles again, bright despite the cough that startles all of them. “I said I _like_ him, didn't I?”

Harry softens and meets his gaze, the pair of them lost for a brief moment to their own world of silent communication and concern. Draco melts, too, caught in the acceptance he's not sure he deserves from such a wonderful child.

And when Ginny gives his shoulder a harsh, but friendly shove and tells him to sit and eat his eggs before they get too cold, Draco takes his seat at the table, surrounded by Harry and Ginny and Lily altogether, all of them awkwardly smiling in the quiet of scratching forks on ceramic plates.

 

  


 


	39. c o r n f l o w e r

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

 

39.

 

c o r n f l o w e r

  

He takes his bundle of flowers to the cemetery, his cloak tighter against the November wind that slightly bangs the gate. Solemn steps stride through the equally solemn and empty place of final resting respect, and Draco exhales warm air into the cold, hoping that perhaps when he is done he can owl Harry to see if he's home.

With Lily's swift recovery and great happiness at the potion working wonders on her sore throat, Harry had gotten swamped at work again after his erratic hours of care for his daughter's health. Worried for him, Draco debated just using the Floo the night before to check on his overwhelmed partner; in the end he'd decided against it, too worried he might be just as overwhelming, even if in a _good_ way.

The familiar path of curving stones wind him around the other side, and he prepares himself as he always does when seeing the dark stone, the one with only her name as she requested, granting him rights to his own stone of choice—granting him freedom after death.

He freezes not from the cold but from surprise, nearly dropping the flowers in his gloved grip, for there is someone bent in front of Astoria's resting place.

It's Harry. He knows from that wind blown hair even at the slight distance. Draco doesn't breathe as he slowly steps closer, swallowing sadness and gratefulness and curiosity as he goes. Harry is bent to a knee, whispering words that the wind doesn't carry out of respect, but Draco sees the side of the handsome face with its slight stubble...sees the hand wipe some tears from behind the glasses.

He stops behind and to the side of Harry, giving Potter some private space as it strikes Draco that Astoria _isn't_ only his loss or his son's. She's Harry's loss as well—a loss of a friend that could have been, a loss of a listener he'd needed at the time, a loss of encouragement not Gryffindor in origin.

His face relaxes, his stance easing when Harry pushes to stand.

“I'll always thank you for listening, for giving me advice not only about him but my own life,” Harry murmurs loudly enough for Draco to hear. “I'm happy, though sometimes I wonder if I should be...guilt and all with the kids, but even so, I...I only hope I make him as happy as you imagined I could.”

“You do,” Draco replies, smiling when Harry jumps straight into the air, a startled lion indeed.

Harry spins, his long wool coat whirling about him, green eyes embarrassed and afraid behind the black frames. His chest heaves with shocking breaths. “Draco! Draco, I...I'm....”

Draco moves forward, glances over the stone with her name and back to his lover at his side. “Harry, you're allowed to visit her whenever you wish. I'm sure she appreciates it as I do knowing now. So close your mouth, lest a rogue leaf flies into it and chokes you, silly sod.”

Potter's cheeks flush, but his jaw shuts finally. One tip of a boot nudges the ground as hands bury in coat pockets and arms shrug shyly. Harry glances about, then steps closer to him. “I'm sorry. I come by sometimes to talk to her, and...well.”

“Harry, your conversations with her are your own. Don't feel you must justify them to me.”

“Thanks. I, uh,...didn't know you'd be here today. I was actually going to come see you after I spoke with her and my parents. I usually say hi to Fred first now, 'cause I fear him hexing my arse through the grave anymore.”

Draco snickers, grey eyes warm. “Go do what you must. I'll find you when I'm done.”

“Right. Okay. Um....” Harry awkwardly pats his arm. “I'll be over there, then.”

He watches Harry walk off, Potter mumbling under his breath with embarrassment still, and Draco bends and deposits the bouquet in front of her stone with a smile. “Ridiculous, isn't he? Fucking adorable.”

The wind blows, and to his mind it is her quiet laugh caught in the breeze.

Draco checks to be sure Harry's made it to his parents' graves before sighing and reaching to touch the top of Astoria's. “Good to know you're _still_ doing things behind my back for my own good, even if it's being silent and letting him pour his soul to you. _Thank_ you.”

A calmness settles over him, and Draco closes his eyes, shoving a glove into one of his pockets where the letter from his son rests. The owl had come this morning, bright and early, and he'd taken it from the bird almost sick with nervousness at the long awaited reply.

Draco pulls it out now, unrolls the parchment with a smirk. “Let me read to you what our son has sent me in response to a letter two weeks ago that I've been paranoid over since:

“ _Sorry, Father, that I didn't reply sooner. Our final quidditch match happened around the time I received your letter, and I was so excited that we_ won _that I forgot to write back between classes and all. Our House didn't win the entire season, but we won matches, the last against Ravenclaw. It was a close one. I heard you played for Slytherin some when you were at Hogwarts. I'm proud to say my father is on the team roster history. Albus and I have talked about trying out sometime, possibly, but we're both a bit nervous to do it anyway._

“ _I miss you all the time like I miss Mother, and I really want to come home. I'll take the train with Albus and Rose and James, and I'll let you know what day to pick me up. If it's all right with you and his family, I'd like to get to see Albus over the break some, maybe Rose if possible, too. Especially Albus, though. He's my best mate, and I worry about him lately, even if he is seeming better. I think he's scared about what his family might be like around the holiday—if it'll be the same or not, quiet and sad or a little happier._

“ _I'm glad to hear that you're happy, though. I hope it means you've made another friend. It would help to know, 'cause sometimes I don't sleep well when I dream about you being alone, like I'm a ghost trying to tell you I'm there, and you can't see me. I'm also glad you want to talk to me. Sometimes you feel so far away, even if I really am there in the house. Mother used to say you were a man of burdens that no one knew. I never understood that, but I hope it's not true. I don't want you burdened, Father, so if talking to you about whatever it is helps, then I will._

“ _Love, Scorpius_.”

Draco curses when a tear falls from his cheek to the paper, smudging some of the ink. Quickly he wraps the parchment back up, tucking it safely away, gloved knuckles wiping his face.

“Fuck, I miss him,” Draco says, bittersweetly happy over the letter and his son's continued absence at school. “Astoria, I miss him every day, so much so that sometimes I can't even think about it for the loneliness it inspires. I'm so damn _proud_ of him—for being so smart and hopeful, for having his friendships, for being _himself_ and not _me_. I can only _hope_ that telling him about Harry won't hurt him. I don't want Scorpius to feel he must choose between supporting his father and his friend in the matter, but I fear it happening. I can't let Harry go, I know that deep down, but I do _not_ want our son burdened. Maybe that's stupid or I don't know, but...I don't know what to do.”

He shivers in the cool air and looks over to see Harry still standing with his family. Draco sighs quietly and touches her stone briefly with the soft prayer in his heart as he silently asks her to help him—to help he and their son—get through what's coming next month. When he feels satisfied she's heard him, he tells her farewell for now and walks to Harry's side, standing away for Potter to notice him so as not to intrude.

Harry smiles and waves him closer, and Draco comes to stand beside him in front of the stones reading the names of Lily and James Potter. Draco stands, humbled, because he shares what he knows is such a sacred space with Harry, and there are no words to be had.

“Mum, Dad, this is Draco,” Harry says, sounding so happy. “The bloke I've told you so much about, my partner now. He's Slytherin, but a good one, Dad.”

Draco blushes. Coughs as the resting places of Harry's parents stay still, waiting. “Um. Yes. Hi.”

“I've talked to them about you for years,” Harry tells him with a grin. “About how much you riled me in school...and later how much I wished you still were when you were gone. They were the only ones I could tell how I felt, Draco, since that kiss we shared. They were the first I told about wanting a divorce, the first I told about my meeting with Astoria, and the first I told about _us_.”

Draco looks away from the graves, feeling like he's being watched in a more speculative way than he ever does around Astoria's space. “I expect they're not fond of me.”

“What? Why not?”  
  
“Everything—hurting you, bullying you, being part of the reason your marriage ended.” Draco stares at his feet. “The same reasons I expect anyone else in your life won't approve of me, either.”

Harry shakes his head, eyes smiling still. “I don't think so, Draco. I think they'd like you lots. I've told them how brave you are, how you've struggled...all I know you've been through. And they know I love you. I'd hope knowing that in itself would be enough.”

He doesn't reply to that. Can't, really. But he breathes relieved.

“Honestly, babe, I just hope they're proud of _me_ ,” Harry whispers, looking lost for a moment.

It hurts Draco's heart to see. He bumps their shoulders, murmuring, “Of course they are. Even with your faults and all, you're...you're more than a respectable person. You really are a hero, a helper, a _good_ man—the one I cherish most. So don't ever doubt yourself, you got that, Potter? You're my brave and reckless Gryffindor whom I occasionally want to throttle even _as_ I snog him.”

“Draco, that's...thank you,” his love responds looking awed. “D'you think you'll ever say that again in the same breath?”

“Never. I _know_ your ego.”

They chuckle together, breaking the tension somewhat.

Harry sniffs quietly, blinks a few times to clear his eyes, and sighs. “Know something?”

“Mm?”

“Sure, they'd be proud of me for lots of things—enduring the Dursleys, going to Hogwarts and doing all I had there, the War, killing Voldemort, and moving on after. But there's _one thing_ I want them to be proud of more than the rest.”

“And that is?” Draco asks gently, grey gaze firmly on Harry next to him.

Harry smiles to himself, still viewing the stone with its names. “I've lived all my life for other people by helping them, being happy that they were, having my friends safe and growing a little family to protect and love. I've done things for myself, sure, but...I've never really _lived_ for myself without fearing being selfish.”

“Harry,” he speaks, concerned, knowing _well_ such thinking and burdens carried as he'd had his own version for so long.

His partner finally slides his eyes up to Draco's, the green melting him where he stands already a bit nervous and hopeful. “Draco, I chose the divorce to live _for myself_ for the first time, to be happy in a way I'd held back from being. And maybe that _is_ selfish by definition, but...I hope they'd be proud of me. At the least I hope they'd understand.”

The string between them heats and tugs, and Draco moves, not even taking the time to be sure they're alone before wrapping his arms about Harry's middle, holding him from behind. His chin rests over Harry's shoulder, and his lips press with confirmation to Harry's hair.

Harry's hands grip his arms, and they stay like that in the cold wind.

“I always charm this place when I'm here, just so you know. Used to fear people listening to me talk to my parents years ago,” Harry casually states, tugging one of Draco's gloved hands up to kiss his knuckles. “No one can see us or hear us right here.”

“Please tell me you know my concerns over that _aren't_ due to shame of this.”

“I know. Believe me.”

Draco closes his eyes, frustrated without entirely understanding why. Here before the resting place of Potter's parents, here knowing they've been aware of his love for their son for years, Draco rests his brow to the back of Harry's head with heaviness.

“Potter, when it's on terms we set, I'll take that step, but not before. I'm not letting those papers define things for us or our children.”

“I understand, babe. Don't worry,” Harry assures him with kindness. “I took the evening off. Tomorrow, too. And I'm spending every second of it with you, Draco, if you want.”

Rocked with relief and happiness, Draco smiles against the unruly hair he adores and kisses Harry's ear. “Of course I want to, Harry. I...I've _needed_ you. Things feel...a little emptier without you around more.”

“Need you, too, babe. It's been killing me being unable to touch you much lately.”

“Harry....”

“Yeah?”

“We're so not discussing _you know what_ in front of your parents because I _know_ they're listening somehow. The _last_ thing I need is two judgmental ghosts haunting me for the terribly naughty things I do with you, so _shut_ up.”

The laugh is loud, cheery, and welcome, instantly soothing his embarrassment.

They give their goodbyes with Draco waiting for Harry to undo all the charms. They walk to the gate together, hands held strongly. And they Apparate to his home, kissing all the way to the bedroom, clothes tossed with each step they manage to take together.  
  
  
  


 


	40. i s a b e l l i n e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

 

40.

 

i s a b e l l i n e

 

He feels worshipped with every bit of skin kissed and touched, treated with reverent care he's only ever been given by Harry Potter. The harsh wind still blows outside, rattling the shutters, but Draco doesn't hear it, can't listen over the rush in his ears of blood pumping to the beat of Harry's tongue over his hip and then his cock. Draco's back arches, his face clenches, and he burrows his fingers into the soft hair, eyes rolling back with each shifting swallow Harry takes of him.

But even with the sexual awe of being in Harry's mouth and nearly coming undone with each flick of the tip of Harry's tongue to the head of his cock, Draco feels the ache _still_. Grudgingly, he tugs Harry's head, sighing as his lover rises up, checking on him, looking handsome even without his glasses over his nose.

Harry lies atop Draco, tongue licking up his throat, and Draco digs his fingers into Potter's shoulders. He knows Harry understands when Potter requests, softly, “Tell me what you need, babe.”

Draco's voice catches in his throat, and he holds Harry closer, feeling that aching hollowness inside him. Grey eyes shut as he feels the skin against skin and hard groin to groin. Harry strokes his brow, runs fingers through his pale hair, and makes him look, makes him open his eyes to stare into that green abyss that is _so_ aware.

“You,” Draco tries to say, shaking a little with intensity.

“You want me inside you.”

Flushing, Draco nods and bites his lip. One of his long fingers traces down Harry's cheek to his bold jaw. “Yes, but...it's more than that, Harry.”

Harry smiles, and the romance is there inside of it. “Did you really wait all this time for me?”

“No. Yes. Damn it.” He scrunches his face when Harry lights up with quiet adoration. “Potter, I _know_ it's stupid and sappy. Stop making it worse.”

“Babe, I didn't mean it _that_ way.” Harry bops his nose with a finger when he looks away. “I'm honestly grateful to know I've mattered _so much_ to someone. I _want_ to do this.”

Draco hesitates, the ache in him so strong now. “You're certain?”

“I promised you things, didn't I, that morning after? I'm only sorry it's taken this long.” Harry kisses him softly, then deeply, emotions rushing between the two of them speaking the language of their hearts as it had years ago. “This time is for us. For you.”

Draco smiles a little, a tiny twist of his mouth.

“I only have one question, babe.”

“Please don't make it awkward, Harry,” Draco begs, uneasiness creeping into him.

“No, not _that_ kind of question. Just wanted to know if you...wanted it like our first time.”

Draco licks his lower lip, then Harry's. “I've dreamed of many positions, Potter, but there's one I want most for now.”

“Which is?”

Carefully he pushes Harry off of him, watching Potter frown at first and then grow very curious while Draco rolls to his side. He looks back over his shoulder, hopeful. “Like this.”

“You sure?” Harry asks, eyes roaming down his body's line.

“Yes. It's.... Don't make me say it.”

His partner smirks. “Draco.”

Entirely red, he buries his face into his pillow, hoping maybe he'll suffocate a little. “Oh, fuck's sake,” he snaps, horny and crass, “just bend me over and shag me.”

“No, no, romantic it is,” Harry declares, palming his hip. “You're cute when you're flustered.”

“Shut up.”

“Sweet, even.”

“Fuck you.”

“I swear I won't tell anyone that Draco Malfoy likes a bit of romance.”

“Keep this up, Potter, and I'm kicking you through the Floo _naked_ into The Leaky Cauldron.”

Harry's laugh inspires his own, and teasing lips and teeth nibble over his earlobe. “And then you'd immediately come after me and pull me back through. _Just_ as naked.”

Draco shakes his head, his cheeks so warm.

Kisses make paths down his neck, shoulder, arm and back, a hot tongue swiping up from his spine to his throat all combining to make him gasp and angle backward, grinding himself to Harry with need. It's there against him, heated and hard, the very piece of Harry that can fill him and fix the emptiness, and Draco shivers when Harry thrusts it over his bum, lips over his earlobe.

They both moan a little, Draco swallowing heavily, and then Harry quietly asks for the lube he knows Draco has stashed. A wand is quickly flicked, a ragged _Accio_ sending a breakable bottle at almost equally breakable speed that Potter thankfully catches out of the air with only the experience the Gryffindor Seeker could have.

Draco stares at the wall and window across from him, fingers holding onto the bottom of his pillow as he hears the cork pop and Harry moving somewhat.

Everything feels so delicate suddenly, so terribly reliant upon the point of something so small to hold itself stable, and Draco fears what might happen if it all comes crashing down somehow. He's never quite understood this kind of emptiness, but he knows one thing: Being with Harry before had fulfilled him in a way he'd never thought possible, so perhaps this could heal more than just a seriously deep sexual need.

It never _was_ just a sexual need, anyway, and he trembles more with the awareness of that fact.

Draco Malfoy, even in his marriage to Astoria, has never let anyone so close, never felt it was worth the risk of being truly bare or even possible for himself to ever know.

Harry's hand jolts him out of his thoughts with its gentle squeeze of his bum, and then lips leave encouragements to his neck the way a nose rubs confidently against his shoulder after. Draco sighs, eyes closing when he feels it start—feels Harry reach and touch him, one slick finger sliding inside of him slowly. Already hard and throbbing, his body pulses, his nerves burning him alive with each little movement pulling soft sounds from him.

A second finger joins the first, steady in rhythm and comfortable, never fully sliding out, and Draco's practically a puddle of a man there in his own bed by the time his dazed mind senses the brief addition of the third preparing him before a single digit caresses him one last time. Harry presses open mouthed kisses to the back of his shoulder the entire time, keeping him calm and ready, showing him silently that he _understands_ what this means.

For if the space near the Potters' graves is sacred to Harry, this space—his body—is sacred, too.

He shudders, spine bending when Harry's lone forefinger caresses the part of him he's wanted touched so fantastically that he nearly comes on the fucking spot.

“Harry,” he murmurs, voice breaking, heart still in shock that the time is truly here. “ _Take_ me.”

Slowly Harry withdraws his finger, careful not to hurt him. A strong hand grips his hip, thumb rubbing the gluteal muscle with love. Harry adjusts, messes with the bottle again behind him, and then gives a single kiss to Draco's back. Draco's eyes lift open, his long beautiful lashes brushing together as he blinks in the soft lamp light and exhales with years of desperate relief as Harry pushes forward, thick and warm and _real_ , filling him slowly.

Breath steals from him, the tremor of his voice hidden within the sound, and he hears Harry hissing through clenched teeth whispering how fucking good Draco feels around him. Calmer at those words, Draco relaxes more against his pillow and the bed. Harry thrusts once, slightly, enough to rock himself in place, and Draco feels his heart clench, feels it start to refill itself again.

Draco smiles and reaches for Harry's hand on his hip, resting his fingers over the ones firmly holding onto him. He pushes back with his hips, sheathing more of Harry inside of him, and moans loudly for as second at how wondrous it is—for Harry is hard and hot, firm and fit, and his cock is magic all its own.

He rests comfortably again, silently happy with Harry thrusting tentatively until hormones simply take over, grab the reigns of them both, and the nervousness falls away. They make love on their sides with one of Harry's arms sliding beneath Draco to wrap around him tightly for Draco's free hand to keep it to his chest.

Harry lightly rocks into him, finding a beat between snapping his hips forward and Draco naturally pushing back with want. Draco's fingers lift from Harry's over his hip and slide down and around, cupping his balls sensually then stroking his cock without any semblance of the self-disgust he'd once told Harry he carried within him. Right now there's just acceptance of himself, of Harry, of their places in life together.

“Harder,” he moans, feeling Harry go deeper. “Fucking _harder_.”

“Hold on,” Harry groans behind him, picking up the pace immediately with harsher thrusts.

Draco gasps, chokes, and tries to catch his breath, nearly unable; overwhelmed by the intensity and the beauty and the _something_ they are and always have been waiting to become whole again, his touch grows vigorous over himself. In his mind's eye he is running for a cliff's edge against a background of clouds, running as fast as he can, as thrilled as he can, ready to leap after all this time.

Harry shifts, grunting, and goes shallow and fast _,_ and then it happens.

Draco's eyes pop open even with that image of the fast approaching cliff in his mind, and everything coils within him like a proud snake ready to release its power. The moan starts low in his chest, slithers sensually up his throat, and sings from his mouth with each rub of Harry's cock to his prostate.

“Yes! _Yes_ , yes, yes!” he calls, each repetition louder than the last. “ _Yes_ , Potter!”

“Fuck, this is _amazing_!” Harry says, loud in his ear. “I love you, babe! _Mmph_!”

Draco's heart bursts open, his mind's self flying from the cliff young and eternal, crying out in relief as he falls not through the clouds to death but continues on, getting the briefest glimpse of something _pure_ waiting for him. He comes in his hand with hardly any conscious consideration of it, so connected to everything and anything, to the man within him and in his bed and life.

“Harry! Oh, _fuck_ , Harry!” Draco cries out, pushing for more, riding his orgasm out to the fullest possible before his body starts to go fucking limp at the effort. Harry adjusts one last time and slides in deep, thrusting hard and heavy, almost growling out his rough sounds of satisfaction in Draco's ear.

“God, Draco, I—I...!”

Draco doesn't fucking hesitate, using what little physical energy he has left to slam back upon Harry. “Brand me, Harry,” he demands, breathing heavily and looking past his shoulder to the green eyes staring at him with _fire_ in them. “Burn me from the inside. Leave your mark so that I can carry it _always_ , so that this fucking emptiness is _gone forever_. Make it go _away_ , Harry.”

“I will, I... _will_ , Draco!” Harry swears with determination, with his famous focus and heroic will; nails tear into the skin of his hip as he grabs Draco and thrusts, brow resting squarely against Draco's back. “ _Ahhh!_ Ah, fuck! Fuck! _Fuck!_ ”

Harry comes inside of him, strong and powerful, and Draco can _feel_ whatever magic Harry wields, whatever power he carries in his energy envelope them both; it's power he's envied and adored for years, power he's coveted and longed for, power he feels _protected_ by. The hollowness, the emptiness, rapidly fades as the lone tear dances down his cheek, and Draco closes his eyes, so fucking relieved, so fucking thankful, and feeling so fucking _loved_.

The lean, gorgeous form trembles against him as Harry holds onto him still, incapable of letting go and shuddering himself to quietness.

Draco shudders just as much because he knows it's worked.

The emptiness is gone, replaced by something bold and brilliant, reheating and reshaping the crystal of his heart inside of him into something dazzling and beautiful, confident and shining through him into the world. Draco cries into the pillow, so goddamn free for the first time in his life, even freer than being inside Harry with this choice and need, and He that Draco has waited for, He that has haunted his dreams for years, _He_ that has chosen _him_ , now kisses his skin with equal acceptance and hope.

They breathe loudly, both hearts still beating roughly enough that Draco can feel his and Harry's against him through Potter's heaving chest. A few moments pass where they seem to both find themselves, and he registers the soreness now without the high of the euphoria.

Every throb is worth it. Every new physical ache he weathers proudly.

A grin crosses his lips, a gorgeous Slytherin grin, and he pulls Harry's hand from his hip to hold it tightly. Harry curls around him, still inside somewhat, moaning a little.

Draco's eyes flutter. Harry kisses his cheek.

Slowly, carefully, Harry softens and slips out of him, drawing hisses from them both.

His partner snuggles him closer now, hot tongue swiping sweat from his neck. Draco tilts his face and accepts Harry's mouth, lips parting to taste and share, again speaking a second language only they know.

Brows rest together. Breaths finally calm. And Draco smiles at the adoration shining in the meadows of Harry's gaze.

“Feel better?” Harry asks, almost shyly with his round, waiting eyes.

Draco smirks and rolls awkwardly to his back and other side, facing to cuddle Potter closer. An arm goes around Harry's neck, and Draco kisses all over that stubbled jaw, runs a hand through hair and over skin, and holds Harry close, nose to nose against the pillows.

“Love you, Harry,” he whispers, unable to speak anything more in his wonder.

“Love you, too, Draco,” Harry replies, sounding just as fulfilled and free as he is with the pair of them lying there staring at one another for a few minutes, unable to look away.

 

 

 

 


	41. f a n d a n g o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

41.

 

f a n d a n g o

 

The next day is just as magical as the night before, full of splendor in the trust between them and led by the grandeur of the simplest touches—a hand over a hip, a thumb to a jaw, a kiss to the top of a foot. It is so natural to reach, so instinctive to kiss and hug, and after his marriage to Astoria, Draco finds this _intimacy_ exactly what he'd hoped it to be.

For there is nothing more perfect, he feels, than watching his naked lover cross the living room to fill their wine glasses and return to the sofa to recline with him. There is nothing more immersive, more _right_ , than Harry in his home mussing about the cabinets for snacks, in his life glancing to him constantly with little shy smiles, and in his heart, strong and powerful as Harry's always been.

This feeling, this _rightness_ that has pervaded their hidden hearts since their kiss refuses to vacate them now. It's there as he watches Harry make them sandwiches, naked in the kitchen, and it's there when he makes his move, turning an attempt at dinner into something more, granting Draco precious new memory of the way Harry sounds while his partner holds onto cabinets for Draco to pound into him against the counter. It's there while he discovers how slick Harry's skin is against his in the shared showers, soaping it and rinsing it off, feeling it rub against him with the urge for closeness. It's there when they lie in bed yet again, lost in each other's eyes and arms with the aching gone and the hollowness filled.

Sometimes Draco smiles, happily overwhelmed by this.

And sometimes Draco smiles for no reason at all.

Towards the end of the second night is one of those moments where Draco smiles just because, grey eyes closing as his body relaxes from the soreness. They'd both been exhausted, but one look at Harry gorgeously waking from their nap had rapidly evolved into Draco kissing his way over Harry's body and then into Draco's legs against a firm chest with Harry thrusting into him, the Chosen One on his knees moaning Draco's name.

His lashes flutter against the pad of the finger suddenly tracing over them to his cheek. He cracks his left eye open, glancing to see Harry has adjusted somewhat on his stomach, staring at him from the side with something happy yet sad all the same.

His brows furrow slightly. “What?”

Harry shrugs, still tracing parts of his face. “You're beautiful.”

“Yes, I know. But what are you _really_ thinking about, thus nagging yourself and me over it and interrupting this thing they call afterglow?” Green eyes dart away down the sheets. Draco frowns again. He stops rubbing Harry's side and lifts his arm, palm cupping his partner's chin. “Harry.”

“I, uh...just...sometimes....” Harry closes his eyes, and Draco shifts his hand, fingers brushing dark fringe from Harry's brow. “Ron's been nosy at work. 'Mione's the same at the occasional lunch. Don't blame them with the concern and all, but it's...hard. Ginny's agreed to keep quiet about us, said it's our business to tell them.”

“And...it's bothering you not doing so,” Draco surmises quietly.

“Yeah,” Potter admits, eyes still closed off to Draco. “They're my best friends, Draco. They've sacrificed and been there for me for years, fought me when I've tried to leave them to spare them pain or worse. It feels... _wrong_ to lie to them when they ask if I'm alone all the time. I know they're worried I'm not handling things well because they don't know I'm _not_ alone—they barely believe me when I tell them I'm fine. You told Parkinson about us, so...shouldn't I tell them?”

Draco rubs his eyes with the back of his free hand. “Potter, I told Pansy because she'd have _found out_ otherwise. She snoops. She thrives on the hunt of it. And she cares about me for some bloody reason. I spared you her coming for you on her own had I not done so; trust me, it would have been _horrible_. But...I understand.”

Harry nods. “Not mad you did, Draco. Without Astoria to talk to, you really only had Parkinson to debate about even speaking with me again. It's fine. I know Ron and Hermione have been so concerned over the divorce that they'll struggle accepting me seeing someone, let alone it being _you_. Besides, I'll...I'll never forget the day Ron came into work, dropped the _Prophet_ on my desk, and said you'd managed to find someone who didn't entirely hate your guts enough to marry you. Can't imagine what he'd...say now. He can have some room to grumble with concern, but if it gets personal against you for the fucking past, I'll be furious.”

Fingers slowly stop stroking Harry's brow. Harry's hand falls softly, too, resting on his shoulder.

“Harry.” Draco clenches his jaw a little while Harry finally blinks his lids open somewhat. “He won't say anything _good_ , I'm certain. Probably grab you, toss you into St. Mungo's, and demand you be checked for spell or potion work from my no doubt nefarious intentions.”

“He might drag me to St. Mungo's. But Ron could also surprise me and do this thing where he shakes his head and tells me he hopes I know what I'm doing once he's had his initial reaction. He's done that off and on for years.” Harry shrugs, but Draco feels the nervousness in it, the hope and the worry. “Would...you be angry with me if I _did_ decide to tell Ron and 'Mione about us sometime soon? Before the holiday starts, I mean. That's still a few weeks away, and they've _got_ to know before the kids do.”

Draco bites his lip. “I get it. They're your friends, Harry, so it's your decision. But the consequences of that—the arguments, the possible distrust and lack of talking between the three of you, is on the three of you precisely. _You wanted me_. You changed everything to have this, you mad, sentimental sod.”

“And I don't regret it,” Harry replies with a sigh. “I'll tell you when I plan to talk with them, don't worry.”

“Fine. Not sure how the hell you'd even convince them that you're rational about this.”

“I'd have to explain things, certainly. Like our kiss. Like how I remember when I saw you in the tailor's shop with Scorpius because you'd looked at me not with forgetfulness or distance or even distaste, but rather like we'd never left that spot in the Ministry after your trial. You _remembered_ , and you left the shop instantly,” Harry whispers, pausing only to kiss his collarbone. “Something in me felt _vindicated_. Like I wasn't losing my mind all that time, and I finally knew it wasn't just _me_ who hadn't gotten over that. I didn't want you to leave the shop because of me, but...watching you go with that awareness was possibly one of the most freeing moments of my life.”

An unlocked box of memories, indeed, Draco thinks in reflection.

“I never forgot, no,” he agrees quietly, arm moving to hold around Harry's middle. “Was shaken to my bloody core that day, looking at you. And later when...when Scorpius asked me if I hated you, I said no, and I was terrified that he, a lonely child, was already curious about Albus. I didn't...I didn't want him to know rejection that I had or become _me_ as a result. So I hoped and hoped, and when his first letter came all about His Friend Albus, nothing had made me ever feel more bittersweet and happy for him.”

Harry stares, soft and awed, emotionally processing his words as a father, as a friend and lover, and as the child he once was, too, no doubt standing before him in memory and refusing to shake Draco's young, arrogant hand now standing there again as an adult in shock of how much _a single moment_ can change another's life.

Draco is silent too long, caught up wondering just how it is that time can muster its forgiveness for him, for them both, if he's even _worthy_ of it. But Harry grows quickly tired of the quiet, a nagging lion pawing at him with soft touches to his jaw and cheek before grumbling. Harry pulls away and moves southward, kissing through the thin shirt covering Draco's cool skin.

“What are you doing?” Draco asks, brow arched.

“Making you feel better. I hadn't meant to make you _sad_ , damn it. I'm so...I...I don't even know what to _say_ , babe.”

“Nothing. I don't need nor deserve an apology for any of it.” Draco assures them both, mentally tucking away the thoughts. He gasps, feeling a hot tongue slide over his shirt and a hidden pink nipple. “ _Mm_. But if you wish to pamper me _now_ , I shan't refuse.”

Harry swallows harshly, stares him down, then tightly eyes his shirt. “Draco, how much do you like this?”

“Why?”

“Because I'm gonna rip it open. Fuck it, sorry, I'll buy you another.”

“How deliciously barbaric,” he grumbles with approval in his soft eyes. “Do go on.”

Draco barks out laughing as Harry grins and follows through his words, fingers tearing the soft material from the v-neck apart to reveal Draco's pale skin beneath it. The ripping sound turns him on all the more, flares the heat through his body and electrifies his already exposed nerves. His laughter fades into trailing tones of soft music made possible only through the caressing of Harry's fingers and tongue to Draco's chest.

He manages to speak, though his voice is shakier than usual in its _Malfoy_ tone. “One would think we'd forgotten to shed our Animagi hare forms. We've certainly been naughty like rabbits all bloody day.”

“I should take more time off if this is what happens.”

“Yes, well, I'm sore. Lucky I even have an arse left to sit on with how well you've fucked me.”

Harry pats his hip absently. “Sorry, babe. My whole lower back is tight.”

“Shouldn't have dared me to go again that last round, Potter, even _if_ you felt _good enough_ to ignore it during,” Draco grumbles and blindly reaches to rub sore muscles down Harry's back and over his bum; he's completely satisfied with how _easy_ it is, how safe it is to do. “We're not twenty anymore, even if we shag like it.”

“Yeah, so. That cramp in my thigh was definitely worth it, babe.” Harry takes a deep breath, then embarrassedly confesses, “I know it was strange when I first called you babe, but I think you're used to it.”

“More or less,” he murmurs, holding Harry tighter. “Seems to make you happy.”

A warm hand slides down his front to rest over his soft, flat belly. “It's okay that you don't, um, say anything back like that. Figured it wasn't a thing with you.”

Draco laughs and drags his nose across Harry's head, hand lifting his partner's jaw to kiss the soft hair. “I've actually thought about this since Pansy mocked me for it, and I... _do_...have a name for you. Potter.”

“Really?” Harry asks, head popping up and nearly knocking into Draco's jaw. Harry's face is lit up with that adorable shy smile. “What?”

Draco's mouth opens, and he laughs again, wondering how fast Harry will catch on. “Potter.”

“What?” Harry asks again, annoyed.

Draco barks out laughing, confusing Harry horribly, and then he takes hold of Harry's face and brings it close to his upon the bed, smirking widely. “ _Potter._ ”

The light goes on in Harry's tired eyes, and he laughs deeply. “Clever, _Malfoy_.”

“I know.”

“Sneaky.”

“What, are you _scared_ , Potter?” Draco drawls now, brows bouncing and libido stirring with memory of a young Potter glaring at him across their wands in the practice duel.

Harry pushes up, straddles his waist, and immediately palms Draco's cock with a haughty grin of equal remembrance, green eyes behind the darker glasses just as vibrantly prepared now as they were that day with their drawn wands. The almost empty bottle is called, his cock is lubricated, and Draco, even without energy to spare, is still quite hard and ready.

Draco smirks as Harry rises upon his knees and positions Draco intentionally, lining himself up. Potter grins. His last words before sinking upon Draco's hardness penetrate the immediate fog around Draco's brain as Harry sneers back with pride, “You _wish_.”

And there, snug inside of Harry, Draco smiles. He keeps smiling long after they've showered a second time, crawled back into bed, and fallen asleep.  
  
  
  
  
  


 


	42. h o n e y d e w

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Very big chapter that kept me up until 7 + am working on it. Worth it, though. Enjoy.]
> 
>  
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

42.

 

h o n e y d e w

 

The Floo becomes his preferred method of traveling as the air dips in temperature even more towards the end of November. Draco begins to prepare for Scorpius coming home, restocking on certain dry goods he knows his son prefers and debating gifts for Christmas. Traditionally they've shopped together as a family, but with this being the first year without Astoria to guide them both—Draco in quietly pleased annoyance and Scorpius in his childlike excitement—it's his responsibility to continue the event, to keep his son from feeling like _everything_ has gone away with his mother's loss.

Draco continues his two nights a week with Harry when Potter Floos in from work, but he knows it doesn't seem like enough to either of them. Harry admits to sleeping worse when he's in the flat without him, and Draco understands the sentiment, finding himself often awake through the night when Harry isn't occupying what is now _truly_ Harry's side of _Draco's_ bed.

He waits, of course, for Harry to stumble through with the _look_ that signifies he's spoken to the other two Gryffindors who dominate Potter's life, but to his actual _concern_ , it is never there. Draco says nothing, respecting Harry's decision on Harry's time to do so—it certainly doesn't bother _him_ to avoid confrontation. Still, though, it grows disconcerting towards the beginning of December itself, and Draco can _feel_ something almost watching him. Something troublesome triggering his sharpened emotional senses.

The something takes a familiar form he doesn't see coming. Literally.

When she appears through the Floo in a screaming hurry, Draco is passing by it to the study and is taken to the floor, smacked into by Pansy as she tries to avoid ripping her skirt in the accident.

“Draco! Draco, Merlin, _please tell me_ you have gotten the papers!”

“What? No. You know I haven't subscribed to anything in years. Now _get off_ ,” he grunts and shoves her off of the back of his ribs, scowling when her knee goes into his calf. “Compose yourself, for fuck's sake. What's happened?”

Pansy pushes to her heels and pulls her hair back, retying it from the crash knocking it all loose. “So I was at work with Mila, you know, the chatty twat that never shuts up about her bloody puffskein and even _sneaks_ the fucking thing to work, and—”

“ _Pansy_ ,” Draco growls, startling her, straightening his clothes as well. “Get to the damn point.”

“I _was_ , arsehole. Draco, it's out. She must have gone and changed her name early this morning, because it leaked and the divorce is now _all_ over the papers. Some new secretary blabbed about it. I heard from snippets of conversations in the elevator that reporters were _trailing_ her and Potter both, and he _left_ work,” Pansy explains, catching her breath. “Couldn't remember if you got any papers at all, but you _had_ to know. Thankfully nothing was said about _you_ two together. I almost punched out Bromilda for her copy of _Witch Weekly_ to scan for it when she wouldn't hand it over. His picture is plastered all over it, though. Theories as to the divorce, if he's seeing someone, that nonsense.”

“ _Fuck._ ” Draco's heart slams in his chest rapidly, eyes popping. He scrambles for his wand, tucking it into his quickly slung on robes, unsure if he'll have to try to find Harry elsewhere. “He hasn't owl'ed or anything. When did he leave the Ministry? When, Pansy!”

“Minutes ago! He took Floo out. I saw him going, but I couldn't catch him fast enough. Draco, he was _furious_. And shaking with people _following_ him. I actually thought about hexing their knees to give him more time.”

Draco gnashes his teeth together. “Forget hexes, I'll _curse_ these cunts. They _dare_. Maybe he went home to wait it out. I...I need to...to....”

“Go! By all means, go, I just thought I'd...well, _he's_ not my friend, but _you_ are, and you're _together_ , so...oh, damn it. I don't have to be his friend, right? Please say no. That's just fucking weird to think about.”

“No.”

“Oh, whew.”

Draco flings a _Nox_ over some of the lit candles. Quickly he turns, faces his oldest friend, and nods as he takes some powder from the pot. “Thank you, Pansy. I owe you one.”

She shrugs off her blush and smiles at him. “Make me godmother to Scorpius?”

“Don't push your luck,” he teases and hurriedly calls out Harry's flat, hoping Potter hasn't entirely closed it off to the fucking network for him to get through. The flames turn green, thankfully, and Draco almost runs through the traveling process, worried for Harry.

He emerges into muted ruckus, to the magically suffocated sounds of banging on the door to the outside stairs, to Harry standing near it shouting for people to _go away_ when they ask how long he's been living in the flat. Draco strides over to his angry partner.

Harry rubs his brow, glasses hanging in his fingers momentarily, head falling forward with tiredness and annoyance. His uniform is a bit rumpled on him from the stress, and he looks a little too pale.

“Harry,” Draco calls, stomach dropping.

Harry turns at his voice, exhales in relief, and moves to him. “Draco?”

Before Potter can even sputter out an explanation, Draco holds him, arms around Harry's shoulders and lips to his hair. “Pansy ran out of the Floo with the news. Harry, are you all right?”

“Going mad, honestly,” Harry answers, grunting in frustration. “Ginny's with Lily at the Burrow. They're safe from this crap, thank _Merlin_. I'm just trying to control my fucking temper at this point. They're not as bad as they were years ago, but it's still utterly stupid.”

“Bunch of nutters. I'll scare them off.”

“Draco, I appreciate it, but there's—”

“I don't _care_ how many there are. Someone from the fucking Ministry should be out here rounding them up. It's rubbish.” He scowls nastily, grey eyes like dangerous smoke aimed on the door. The urge to protect Harry hits him squarely in the gut. “The War's over. Those fucking imbeciles have to bring shit up every now and then anyway. You're a hero, but it's been long enough. They should give you space, give your _family_ space.”

“I know. There's officials coming to break it up, so don't worry. I thought about going to your place, but was afraid I'd get followed. Didn't want them on _your_ doorstep.”

Draco leans back and gazes over Harry, notes the dark anger in the green he's not seen in so long.

“Have they always been like this?” he asks, sympathy overwhelming him when Harry nods. Draco remembers the coverage of Harry in Hogwarts, and part of the damn reason he _had_ unsubscribed from things _was_ to avoid reading about Harry and Ginny when they were wedding.

“Yes,” Harry sighs. “They went mad when Ginny and I married. James' birth was ridiculously covered, and though they made sure to announce Al and Lily after, they weren't as interested, thankfully. Probably just nosy now because there's not been much in news generally, and we'd been keeping more private with respect at work from people.”

“Pansy mentioned a new secretary.”

“That's what Ginny thinks happened. Said she wasn't familiar with the young witch who filed her papers.”

Draco breathes out deeply and frames Harry's face with his palms. The kiss is warm and soft, grounding them both. He deepens it, tongue tasting Harry's tongue, and he angles his face for more. Harry pulls him backward away from the still muted voices outside, and they stumble to the sofa, Draco landing atop Harry heavily.

He grins as Harry readjusts his glasses from the fall. “Poor bastards. I almost feel sorry for them. Here they are nitpicking your divorce when the bigger story is on the other side of the fucking door.”

“Right? Just be glad the window is on _our_ side of the room without a way to peek inwards,” Harry chortles and tugs him down for another kiss. “Thanks for coming to check on me.”

“Welcome. Worried me, hearing you'd left in such a hurry. I know you can handle this idiocy, but I'd rather you not have to at all.”

“I know. Parkinson told you, you said?”

“Yes. About broke me in half coming out the Floo in her rush.”

Harry's mouth twists in a small smirk. “Think she likes me more?”

“Perhaps, Potter.” Draco lowers his brow. Stares into Harry softly. “You're _sure_ you'll be fine with this exposure?”

“It was gonna happen eventually, Draco. Ginny and I both knew it. More bothered about what the kids might read at Hogwarts with their friends getting any papers,” Harry admits, and his fingers tease through Draco's silky light hair. “It's why telling them when we did, bringing them home and all, was so important.”

Draco nods gently, then kisses Harry's cheek, jaw, and neck. Strong legs wrap around Draco's robes and his hips, matching the arms under his shoulders. “They've been well?”

“I...yeah, I think so. Letters have been mostly positive, just worries over exams.”

“Just be sure there's something familiar for them when they return. Scorpius says Albus fears it may all be too different or sad.”

“Damn it,” Harry curses, saddened but understanding.

“I've faith in you, Harry,” Draco tells him with another kiss. “I've never known someone with more determination than you. Just manifest that will of yours to do it right, and you'll get it done. Luckiest Gryffindor I've ever seen.”

The smile eases any last flutters of his heart, and Draco smiles in turn. Grey eyes take in the handsome face below him: the gaze so captivated with him, the tanner skin no longer pale, but rosy, and the calmness and determination he spoke of settling there in Harry's brow and firm mouth.

Draco shakes his head, snorting to himself. “How is it this easy to feel these things for you?”

“Things, he says,” Harry mocks him with a laugh. “I don't know, babe. Just is.”

“Shove off. You know it's still weird for me to say that I love you,” Draco retorts, hoping the words cover the flush to his cheeks. When Harry just looks up at him, entirely humored, Draco rolls his eyes, then narrows them much the way he used to in their school confrontations. “You. Of all bloody people, _you_ had to be the one.”

Harry hums, quite pleased, and nearly kisses him when they hear the voices getting louder outside.

“Out my way, mate, before I toss you down the steps. Bloody pests. Leave Harry be, right?”

“Ron, that's the Ministry official, not a reporter.”  
  
“Same difference, they're all in the way bickering instead of _leaving_.”

They freeze, staring at one another on the sofa.

“ _Shit_ ,” Harry whispers, panicking.

“The Floo,” Draco mouths, tempted to just jerk Harry with him and go home to avoid what he _knows_ is coming.

The jiggle of the door jerks them both out of the decision making, and each tries to move as the fucking thing springs open with a bit of magic; their heads bang together painfully when Harry rises up too quickly, and Draco holds his hurt nose. Harry gives up trying to flee and moves his hand instead, checking him over with Draco still lying over top of Potter.

It's too late, regardless, for a concerned Ron Weasley steps inside with Hermione Granger-Weasley behind him, slamming the door.

“Good fucking riddance,” Weasley mutters, back to them, while his other half has stopped moving, her brown eyes humongous and her mouth open as she sees them frozen upon the sofa together.

Draco clenches his eyes shut as Harry goes still beneath him. He doesn't see Weasley's visual reaction to them when the feet turn about on the floor noisily, but he hears the intake of air, the choking of it, and then the loudly exclaimed, “Bloody _hell_ , what is going on? Is that _Malfoy_?”

“One second, Ron,” Harry mutters to Weasley's shock. “You okay, Draco? I didn't break your nose, did I?”

Draco winces as Harry's hand tests the bridge of his nose again. “No. Fucking headache, though. Between you and Pansy today, I've been tossed about and beaten worse than I have since the fucking War. Be _gentle_ , will you?”

“Sorry,” his partner murmurs and adjusts, helping Draco sit up slowly while he blinks out some minor dizziness.

Granger bites her lip, eyes darting between the pair of them and her husband. Weasley crosses his arms in his dark Auror robes and blinks rapidly, waiting. Draco looks to the floor. Harry sighs and pats his palms over his knees.

When none speak for a moment, Harry gives up with a shrug. “Well, this is awkward.”

“No _crap_ , Harry,” Weasley replies, sounding both concerned and agitated.

Draco doesn't look up to see the suspicious glare, but he feels it all the same.

“Ahem. Um...let's...break this into a series of questions,” Granger offers, stepping close enough that Draco can look up slightly and see her nice boots and the bottom of her cloak. “Firstly...Harry, are you all right? We saw the _Prophet_ and spoke with Ginny.”

“I'm fine, 'Mione. Berks followed me here when they all went to the pub behind me with the Ministry Floo. Bunch of nosy arseholes.”

“Okay. Please don't worry. Officials were outside dispersing them a minute ago. And I can put pressure on the editors again like I did in the past for you.”

“I appreciate it, but now I'll have people watching closely. Most really weren't before, even when Lily had her upset. It's strange that _locals_ understand privacy better than these people do, considering _they_ are the ones the rubbish is written for.”

Draco snorts, entirely agreeing with that statement.

“Next question,” Weasley interrupts with a confused huff. “Why's _he_ here, and why was he _on top_ of you?”

Harry inhales tightly at his side. Draco says not a word, but he chances a glance Weasley's way and finds the icy blues focused on him with scrutiny. Draco's expression settles into one of defensive defiance, the ghost of an old sneer matching one starting on Ron's face, too.

“C'mon, you two,” Harry grumbles at them. “Look, I was trying to figure out how to tell the both of you about this, but...well, guess this'll have to do.”

“Tell us what, exactly, Harry?” Hermione asks. To her credit she is neither angry nor disgusted, simply curious and cautious.

Draco braces against the sudden confused frowns as Harry smiles next to him. “I'm seeing Draco.”

Weasley gapes, then shakes his red hair from his eyes. “Yeah, I'm seeing him, too. Right here in front of me on _your sofa_.”

“Ron.”

“Harry, c'mon. It makes about as much sense as what you're implying.”

Harry takes Draco's hand, shocking the pair of Gryffindors again. “I _am_ seeing him. We're together.”

Hermione recovers from the shock first with a soft, “You're...in a relationship?”

“Yes,” Harry answers proudly. “We are.”

“A relationship. As in dating. You're _dating_ Malfoy. You're _snogging_ Malfoy. You're doing _whatever_ with Malfoy, and no, I don't want to know,” Ron manages to say, arms uncrossing and recrossing in his bafflement. “Harry, are you seriously okay? This is...I dunno what this is, but it isn't normal.”

“My relationship is _normal_ in its way, thank you.”

“Your _relationship_ is with _him_. Someone who treated you like shit for _years_ , mate. Don't tell me you just _forgot_ about all of that because he grew a bloody conscience at the end of the War.”

Draco scowls, barely leashing his tongue in time for Harry to snap, “There's shit you don't know about, _okay_?”

“Then get talking. This is a mess, Harry. You have to see that. You have to see _why_ I'm worried about you here. You left my sister and moved here for _this_?”

Draco and Weasley share a nasty glare that has Harry and Granger sighing.

“Ron,” Granger chastises Weasley with a quick tap of his muscled arm. She turns her dark gaze back over Harry and Draco, flustered yet trying to put the pieces together in that marvelous head of hers, even as she lacks some of the information. “How long have you been...together, then?”

Draco turns his head, his cheeks already hot to the touch and getting hotter while Harry mumbles under his breath.

“What did you say? It almost sounded like 'not long after Ginny and I split.' I _must_ have misheard you, mate.”

“That _is_ what I said, Ron.”

“But _why_ , Harry?” Weasley demands.

Harry pauses and views Draco from the side. Draco's stomach twists in knots, and he continues to say nothing, worried anything he could say would only make everything even worse. Harry rubs a thumb across the back of their held hands. “Because I love him, Ron. It's hard to explain.”

Ron rears back, gasping. “You _what_ now?”

Harry sits straighter, spine unbowed. “I _said_ I love him. I have for years.”

Weasley takes a slightly angry step, and Draco's attention snaps forward again. The heat slings between the two best friends as Ron focuses on Harry solely, looking betrayed and hurt and so lost all at once. The red hair shakes again as he paces slightly. “The hell you have. You _hated_ him.”

Draco closes his eyes briefly, trying not to withdraw and run for the fucking door. The reminders of the past have never been happy topics for him, and knowing Harry's closest friends would only naturally want Harry far from him makes the guilt and shame and anger simmer all the more awfully.

Granger notices Draco's face fall silently, and despite her own defensive uncertainty, she views Draco with equally silent sympathy that surprises him.

“Ron, that was in school,” Harry counters with his focus on Ron and not paying attention to her. He squeezes Draco's hand subtly. “I loved him for years after the War.”

Weasley's nostrils flare, and his eyes widen and wet in a way that even Draco feels guilty about. “You never said a damn word about it. Seems quite out of nowhere to me.”

“How could I have, Ron?”

“Oh, I don't know. You could've told us before you _married my sister_. Y'know, trusted us and been _honest_. I wouldn't have disowned my best mate for being gay, Harry! But you didn't do any of that. You kept quiet. You had _a family_.”

Harry's voice cracks as he shouts, “You think it was that fucking _easy_? You think even though I knew I had feelings for Draco that I could just walk away from Ginny then? I loved her, Ron! I loved her, and I wanted a future with her, and at that point I knew whatever _was_ between he and I wasn't something I could even touch. We'd not spoken in too long, and he got with Astoria, and that was that.”

Weasley shudders, looking so damn torn as he takes yet another step closer. “Just tell me you didn't leave Ginny for him. Tell me you weren't seeing him behind her back recently. Tell me I _don't_ have to beat my best mate's arse for betraying my sister's trust.”

Granger intercepts her husband, thankfully, with a quick grab of his wrist. “Harry, he has a point. This looks...well. Please...if this is one of those situations where you hid your sexuality out of fear we wouldn't approve or something....”

“Kind of,” Harry confesses to her. “And I'm not coming out _entirely_ gay, just...bisexually. I had my family that I wanted just fine.”

“ _Fuck_ , Harry,” Ron jerks his face to look away. “Damn it.”

“And it _isn't_ what you think. I know how it looks. It's...hard to...ugh.”

“Did she know? Was this why she left, too?”

Harry hangs his head a little then, his free hand coming up to rest over his brow. “Partially. I was finally honest with her about my attraction and feelings towards him, yes, but that was just _one_ reason on my end. She had her own unrelated to that. We told you everything truthfully. We just didn't talk about _this_. It was hard for Ginny to do so then, and by the time Draco and I did get together, she respected it to be my business to tell you.”

Weasley looks unsure, as if with this new revelation of their relationship he doesn't know what to even trust being said anymore. Draco can't even blame the bloke. “How, mate? Where did these feelings even come from? _When_ did they, for fuck's sake?”

Draco knows Harry is staring at him. And he trembles enough for Harry to notice.

Harry scoots closer on the cushions and moves their held hands to Draco's thigh. “Babe? Babe, you okay?”

He's not ready. He's not ready for his personal truth to just be on _fucking display_ for Weasley and Granger to judge as harshly as they desire. He's not ready for an already upset Weasel to know he _kissed_ Harry when Potter was still dating Weasley's sister.

He's not ready to be entirely _outed_ like this.

Harry feels him shaking harder, trapped in a whirlwind storm of bitterness and regret, guilt and anger, wanting to disappear on the spot. “Babe, seriously, you're scaring me. Say something.”

“What the fuck can I say, Potter?” Draco finally speaks, sounding as sick as he feels. Grey eyes meet the green near his face as Harry leans. He knows the other two are listening intently, and Draco feels the scowl dig deep, leaving lines on his face Astoria had long warned him about before she died. “There's nothing to be said, and you know it. No matter how you explain it, it is what it is and will look as it does. I am _forever_ punished for stupid mistakes in the past.”

“No, babe, that's not true. You're not,” Harry responds, sad and concerned as Draco's head droops. “Look at me.”

Draco closes his eyes.

“Draco. Please look at me.”

Weasley shifts his weight. Granger waits patiently.

Harry takes him by the chin and forces him to look Harry right in the eye. There's love there, love Draco still sometimes wonders in the deepest, most fearful part of his heart if he'll ever deserve, and Harry tries to smile. “I'm sorry. I know I said I'd talk to them on my own, but this...just kind of happened how it did. I know you don't like our private business on display, and I respect why. _Trust me_ to handle this with that respect, babe. Remember what I told you that night we...we got together. I told you that you're a _good_ man, and I won't hear otherwise.”

Draco's chin quivers in Harry's hold. He fights the need to vomit, the urge to run.

Harry sighs and quickly pulls him forward for a kiss that has both of Harry's friends staring at them wildly. “Trust me?”

“I...fine,” Draco gives in, sealing his own doom.

“Thank you,” his partner murmurs, kisses him again, and sits back to face Granger and Weasley once more. The pair blink their startled expressions away, and Harry sighs. “Okay, so...during the end of the War, Draco and I...I think we both started questioning each other. I hurt him so badly that I still hate myself for it because I couldn't go back and pull my head out my arse to see how _scared_ he was of Voldemort, too, until he was nearly dying. He decided to try to spare my life later, even when he definitely had no special reason to do so, there in the Manor. Remember, 'Mione? And we all were there at the Room of Requirement together. And then...the wand.”

“Which you never did fully explain,” Granger says to Harry.

Harry nods. “Well, partially because I didn't _know_ his reasons beyond wanting to kill that monster. But...now....”

Draco covers his face with his free hand, furiously annoyed at feeling so bleeding and bare in front of the three of them. “I fucking loved you, idiot. I told you I thought I'd lost you when you were there in that oaf's arms. I told you my world ended, Harry, and when you got up, I responded on instinct. I ran to you. I gave you my wand. And it worked _because_ I loved and trusted you.”

“That...makes sense,” Granger replies softly across from him where she stands.

Ron frowns skeptically. “Loved him? You hated each other, even with all the _good_ you finally did there at the end.”

Draco sneers at Ron angrily. “I didn't _ask_ to care for him, Weasley. I didn't _want_ to feel anything for him but hatred, and I _couldn't_. There's always just been this...this _thing_ there between us, no matter what form it held over all that time—be it rivalry, bickering, hidden attraction, you name it. It was there, and it was apparently fucking destined. I didn't consciously love him until the very end. I struggled with the feelings and the attraction until that _fucking moment_. Once I thought he was dead, nothing mattered. No petty arguments or rejections or rivalries mattered. I thought I was about to die, and that truth was right in my face, whether I wanted it to be or not when I looked at his body.”

“Babe,” Harry soothes, letting go of his hand to switch it with Harry's other one and putting his freed arm around Draco's middle. “After...the Room of Requirement, I honestly had questions. Obviously there wasn't time to figure them out, so when he ran to me with his wand in front of Voldemort, I felt like I had at least some kind of answer. But things didn't...clarify until after his trial.”

“Which you got him out of,” Granger recalls calmly. “And should have. You helped save everyone that day, Malfoy.”

“I wanted to save _him_ ,” Draco replies, shrugging at their brows rising at him. Even Harry looks mildly surprised. “You Gryffindors don't get it. For us...we protect those we cherish first. The world will always fight itself, but we can protect those we love. It's you lot that cares about justice over that constantly. It's partly why I even joined the Death Eaters in the first place—I wanted to protect Mother, and she wanted to protect me when she felt I had no option but to join with Father's fear and that bastard's pressure and presence in our lives.”

Three pairs of eyes look away simultaneously with awareness they'd not had before. With guilt, even, of likely some considerations of his past motivations.

Harry glances to him again first with openness. Happiness. And understanding. “At any rate something happened after his trial that defined everything for me.”

“What?” Weasley asks bluntly.

Draco grimaces as Harry point-blankly states, “He thanked me. He kissed me, panicked when he noticed he had, and I kissed him back before he could run.”

Granger covers her mouth with her hand. Weasley turns a shade of red. “So you _did_ cheat on her, then.”

“Technically once, yes. I kissed Draco that day, Ron, and I _never_ regretted it. Intellectually I did, emotionally I knew I should have, but deep down I couldn't.”

“But...why? That's not like you.”

Harry smiles somehow, like he's trying to make his mate feel his happiness. “I know. Ron, it didn't _feel wrong_. It felt _right_. Natural. Normal. Like it should have happened before. It felt _good_ inside.”

When Ron can only stare with his thoughts clouded to the rest, Hermione coughs under her breath politely. “So...you kissed. And then?”

Harry's smile fades. “And then we parted ways. I wanted to tell Ginny. I wanted to talk about it with you two. But...nothing happened. He disappeared. I began wondering if I should write him or forget it, since he didn't write me. Time...passed. Life kept going. And...so I just...kept this part of me locked away with that, and I tried to enjoy what life I did have. I loved my wife, and I don't regret my marriage or my family.”

Ron turns on Draco then, fuming, as Draco has been expecting Weasley to do. “So you kissed him, got his brain all mixed up, and left him there?”

“Hadn't...meant to. It just happened, Weasley. I _wanted_ to write him, to talk, but....”

“So you just bowed out, then. Like a coward after all.”

“Ron,” Harry hisses protectively. “Don't.”

Draco considers rising to his feet to look down upon Weasley's shorter form, but he doesn't. He sits there and growls back, “He had _her_. I knew he did, and I knew that would never change because of _me_. I didn't know what the hell was going on between us anyway or what was possible, and it was a nightmare to consider consequences of it blowing up in my face. Father would have _lost_ what sanity he kept through it all had I gone after Harry and shown I was queer.”

“Wait, hold on. So _you're_ gay.”

Harry flinches. Draco rolls his eyes, wishing he could roll them out of his damn head. “Yes, you buffoon. I'm _gay_. I fancy _men_.”

Ron fires up with his known temper. “Look, _arsehole_ , Harry said he wasn't. Just assumed with you being married and having a kid, too, that then maybe you weren't either.”

“He is, Ron,” Harry interjects quickly. “His marriage was...unique.”

Hermione actually smiles, and Draco frowns, not trusting it until she quietly explains, “I heard wonderful things about her. How kind she was. How accepting of muggles, too. I was always...honestly, I was always happy for you that you chose each other. She seemed soft enough, yet firm enough to handle you.”

Harry smiles at her. “She was _lovely_ , Hermione. I got to know her a little.”

Draco almost laughs. It catches in his throat at the last second, but he nods tiredly. “I adored her as most I could. There was pressure for me to marry, being the heir and all. Once I heard Potter got engaged, I felt broken and angry, so I started courting in I suppose a sense of revenge. I met Astoria that way. I wasn't completely honest with her until it got serious enough. She was the first I ever told about my sexuality, and even knowing what I was, she agreed to marry me anyway to protect me from Father.”

Hermione's face softens more. “Was he abusing you?”

“Not...like that. More like furious I wouldn't have lived up to his standards, and I didn't fucking want to do that regardless after seeing him hand our home over the way he did.”

Ron sniffs, exhales, and walks out of the room into the kitchenette a moment to drag out chairs for himself and his wife. They both sit down, nearly looking as tired as Draco and Harry feel. Ron rubs his eyes. “So you got married. But how'd you have your kid, then?”

“I put my cock inside of her, like _one does_.”

“Draco,” Harry chastises him while Weasley's cheeks flush more pink.

Draco scoffs, but leans into Harry's side. “What? He asked. Essentially, I told her I couldn't give her what she needed up front. She accepted that. But she _did_ wish to give me a child if she could because of the blood curse possibility. Astoria didn't want me to know conditional love all my life or have my mother's affection constantly stuck between Father and I as she tried to keep the peace. So...after great thought, I agreed. I ingested aphrodisiacs to push through the sexual attraction problem as much as possible, and she was flexible about trying different things to meet me halfway. Thankfully she conceived within the first few weeks, and we never had sex again.”

“Never?” Ron questions, like an echo.

“Never, Weasley. She found a lover, and I paid for anything she needed to see him when she wanted to do so. I just...never took one for myself. Was too afraid to with our son, with even accepting what I was, and...because of _you_ ,” Draco mumbles, sending Harry a playful glare. “Damn Chosen One.”

Harry chuckles and kisses his fingers. “Sorry, babe.”

“Whatever.” Draco swallows, awed to find he feels...less repulsed about talking than he'd always thought he might. Instead it's actually quite nice to get it out. Encouraged by that difference, he continues, “We always had separate rooms. Scorpius was raised with that to never question it. Astoria and I stayed married, even after I offered her the out, because we were best friends.”

Hermione rests her right leg over her left knee, thinking. “You moved, correct?”

“Yes. I fled the Manor. It was tense constantly between Father and Astoria with their differences, and I was afraid he would exert his influence over my son the way he had over me as a child. I didn't want Scorpius committing the same mistakes and having the same regrets. Thus I looked into an inheritance of mine from my grandfather, got legal access, and bought the house. We literally left in the middle of the night, much to Mother's broken heart. I asked her not to write us because I didn't want Father to find us and create a spectacle. I hated doing so, but though she always supported me first, she still tried to be there for Father with their marriage. It was never anger at her that drove me away, and I have taken the cost of her not knowing her grandson as personal burden. One of many.”

Harry kisses his cheek and rests his face near Draco's shoulder.

Granger and Weasley both look at him with something new. Not completely open respect, but something closer to it.

Hermione chews her lip slightly. “Basically, you each lived your lives always wondering about that moment and what might have been because it felt right.”

“Yes,” Harry and Draco both answer together.

“So why now? What did Ginny say?” Ron inquires, much calmer than before. “I mean, she doesn't hate you, Harry.”

“She doesn't, no,” Harry agrees and rights himself to sit properly again. “To put it simply, I hadn't seen Draco in years, and then one day I did while preparing Al for Hogwarts. It unlocked it all again, and I knew I wasn't the only one feeling that way judging by how fast he got away from me. After that I couldn't stop wondering. Ginny and I had been having problems for quite a while, stuff we'd worked through but couldn't entirely fix—scheduling conflicts with our jobs and the kids, inability to get past things we used to handle well, struggles with wanting to respect each other's careers and still feeling slighted by them. Lots of little crap. But it added up.”

Hermione nods, hands folding on her lap. “You mentioned this at the Burrow.”

Harry winces. “I didn't mention Astoria then. During some of this, I met her. She'd overheard Ginny and I arguing after lunch in Diagon Alley, and it just came out when Ginny asked me if there was someone else. I said Draco. We got into a really nasty argument then, and she left, and there was Astoria. I hadn't even known whom she was by appearance, so when this kind woman asked me if I was all right, if I wanted some coffee and to sit down a moment, I just...followed her. Something about her was trustworthy in my gut. I'm glad I did. She told me her name, then, and we talked. A lot.”

“Rotten, the both of you. Doing crap behind my back,” Draco mutters with a small elbow into Harry's ribs. “Even if I'm appreciative, it's still rotten.”

“Uh-huh,” Harry snickers and winks. “I confessed I cared for her husband and didn't know how to deal with it. She said she knew. Told me about his struggle. And then she asked one question: What would I change if I could at this point? I said I'd be honest with myself and him. She encouraged me to think about it, but to do it fairly to myself and Ginny and the kids. I hadn't...known she was sick at first. She told me that later in her letters when she was near death.”

Ron exhales long and slow, accepting Hermione's hand over his thigh. “You talked about the divorce, agreed to it, all that after.”

“Yeah. Little bit later on, but yeah.”

“And you went after him when, then?”

“Well, I checked on him a few weeks after the funeral. But she'd told me in her letters to go for it—to give him space, but be steady with my sincerity and friendship because their relationship wasn't...like Ginny and I. I was honest with him about things. He wasn't responsive at first. Angry at me, shoved me away a lot. But then he read letters I'd written back to her, and he wanted to talk, so we did. It progressed from there, with him constantly worrying over ruining things and me reassuring us both.”

“We weren't official or anything until after the papers were signed. A short while after,” Draco adds, feeling he must out of protocol. “Got tired of denying myself what I wanted for everyone else's benefit. My biggest concerns were Scorpius and Harry.”

“Do the children know?” Hermione asks them nervously.

Harry shakes his head. “Just Lily. By accident. Ginny says I'm too obvious.”

Ron's brow pops up. “What'd she say, then? She's never mentioned it around us.”

“She likes him,” Harry murmurs with a small smile and another kiss to Draco's knuckles. “She likes him a lot. I think Al does, too, for his own reasons, and I'm hoping that won't change. James will be the one most upset.”

Hermione glances to him, again surprising him with her concern. “What about your son?”

Draco's anxiety shows on his face. All three of them sit forward sympathetically. “I don't know. I'm worried he'll want to be supportive of me, then feel torn trying to help his closest friend. I just know I can't lie to him about myself anymore.”

“It'll be okay, Draco,” Harry tells him with hope. “I genuinely think so. Just gonna be a rough period of adjustment for everyone.”

Ron twitches his nose. “That mean you're telling the whole family, then?”

“Yeah. Just wanted the boys to know first. From us.”

“Fair.”

“We've been careful. Didn't want what happened today over Ginny's name change to happen to us for the boys to read about in school.”

Granger grimaces. “That would be terrible, Harry.”

Harry swallows roughly, and Draco pats his hand around his stomach. “I know. But this now? You two have to know how much I want your support in this. _Ginny_ is even supportive, somehow. She's been angry off and on for months. Been hurt. And I understood and didn't tell her she couldn't be. But she's also...been accepting, too. My friend, like we were before. And she told me she feels better having her space to focus on her life now, and she respects me needing to do the same. She, Draco, and I all had breakfast with Lily together when Lily was sick. They get on. It's just awkward.”

Awkward is an understatement, and Draco knows it. Still, he nods and watches the husband and wife across from them for signs of hesitance.

Ron closes his blue eyes, obviously weighed down with the heavy subject and talk. Granger moves her chair closer and takes his hand, whispers to him quietly and listens to him whisper in turn.

Harry and Draco glance to one another, and Draco takes in the hope and fear there in his love's meadow gaze. Draco's jaw locks, the muscles flex, and he angles himself, takes hold of Harry's face with his free fingers and kisses his partner deeply right then and there. Harry kisses him back as passionately, and matching little smiles touch their lips together when they part.

“Love you,” Harry says, tired and worried and loving all the same.

“Love you, too,” he replies, enamored with Potter over and over again.

“Harry,” Ron calls, catching their attention.

Harry shifts to face his best mate. “Yeah, Ron?”

Blue eyes gauge Draco for sincerity, for authenticity, and make a solemn decision before Weasley speaks again. “If you're _really_ happy...if you _really_ love him that much...I'll...support you. I never wanted you to be miserable, Harry, with or without Ginny. You're my best mate, and you know it. You've been tossed around in life, never quite sure what place is _yours_. I don't want you to get hurt more, yeah?”

Breaths ease out of Draco _and_ Harry, and Harry smiles in relief. “Thanks, Ron. I understand. Seriously. But this is different. It's...meant, somehow. It still feels as right and natural as that first kiss, and I think it will for a long time, if we keep at it. That's my hope. It's what I want.”

Draco's grey eyes soften over his lover as Weasley turns to him. “What about you, then, Malfoy? That what you want? Or are you gonna run off on him and break his heart anyways after all this?”

Draco's muscles tense up, and he forces his expression to stay neutral as he answers, with slightly minced words, “I made the decision to accept him into my life weeks ago, Weasley. I'm standing by it as long as he wants to be there. He is _not_ the only one who can be hurt or broken hearted by this, you know.”

Harry looks slightly concerned, but Ron just nods, sheepishly so.

Hermione smiles at that, then at both of them on the sofa. “Harry, you know I'll support you. You know out of...honestly, out of anyone you know, I would understand. I've lived in the muggle world like you, and my parents have known couples divorcing over such things. Not every situation had a happy outcome or a remotely amicable one. You are lucky in that.”

“Trust me, 'Mione, I _know_. I'm _grateful_ for Ginny's understanding. I don't ask her to support us. I just ask her to give me room with the kids about this and whatnot.”

“I understand.”

The four of them sit quietly, eyes darting almost in a circular motion around each of them as they wait for someone to just say something.

Granger gives first, as Draco expects her to do.

“You should bring him to dinner, Harry. It's been a long time. We should all have some relaxation together,” she suggests in a sincere friendly manner. “I can ask Molly to watch Hugo one night and eat-in together, if that's easier with you wanting to be private yet.”

Harry waits for Draco's small nod to accept. “Sure, Hermione. Sounds great.”

“Bring whatever drinks you like, though. Don't really have much liquor at the house,” Ron admits with a shrug. “Happens after George has passed through on a visit. Tends to raid the stash with me.”

“Okay, Ron.”

“We'll let you two, um...go back to whatever you were before,” Hermione offers, laughing as both Harry and Draco blush in sync. “Should be clear out there now, anyway. We originally came by to check on you and scare them off if we had to do it.”

Harry rises up when his friends stand. “Thanks. Both of you. Just...thank you, for everything. I'm sorry I didn't talk with you sooner about this.”

“Harry, it's fine. Your relationship is between the two of you, but _thank you_ for telling us now,” Granger says and wraps her arms around Harry in a tight hug. “We love you, silly. That won't change. You won't lose us.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks, rhetorically, but his green eyes are locked with Ron's blue ones.

Draco holds his breath as Weasley puts his arms around both his wife and best friend, holding them together. “Yeah, Harry,” Ron tells him. “You're stuck with us, remember? And...I'm sorry about crap I said at the Burrow that one night. You know I didn't mean it. You know I trust you and believe you.”

Harry shudders in the group hug, and Draco hears his partner cry softly, just grateful for them as he's always been. He watches them hold each other tighter, hears Granger cry, too, just a little, and Ron sniffs with wet eyes above them both.

Draco smiles to himself when they withdraw. He's so damn happy for Harry, so _relieved_ for him knowing how much this had weighed his partner down...knowing how much Harry had held back for _Draco's_ sake, too.

The trio walk to the door. Draco remains seated on the sofa, not wanting to be in the way and unsure of any acceptance he's _been_ given, regardless.

But Harry motions at him, waves him closer, and Draco awkwardly pushes to his feet, strides over and stands waiting.

“What?” he asks, huffing.

“We wanted to say bye to _you_ , too,” Hermione teases and grins at him. “So bye, Draco.”

Ron laughs and lightly socks his shoulder with a soft playful tap. “See you, Ferret Face.”

“Fuck off, Weasel.”

“See, _that_ sounds like Malfoy.”

Harry laughs loudly, throws his arms about Draco's throat, and kisses him. “And I love it. Snarky snake.”

Draco smirks and kisses that bolt of lightning right there in front of the two smiling friends watching them. “Yeah, yeah. We get it, you strange, masochistic git.”

 

  


 


	43. f l o w e r _ g i r l

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Two chapter upload. Sorry for the wait; I'm working on two new Drarry one-shots. ;) ]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

  
  
  
  
  
  
43.

 

f l o w e r   g i r l

 

 

Days after the _still_ awkward conversation with Granger and Weasley, a strange need motivates him to walk up the stairs and into his son's room. He sits in the chair by the small desk for a moment and looks about with quiet fatherly anticipation, missing his child with a depth his grief had kept at bay for his lonely emotional survival.

His son is coming home _soon_ , and it's all he can think about lately aside from his relationship.

He ponders this being he gave life to—a thoughtful youth so like Astoria and yet somehow so like _him_ , like him in ways he'd hidden from the world at large, his own quiet vulnerability without its anger or egoistical compensation to cover it. He considers how well _either_ of them know one another, how much closer they could possibly be; for he has been a Malfoy father at heart, and despite his efforts to shred them away, learned limitations have still restrained him in ways.

Something in him wakes as he exits Scorpius's room and shuts its door with respect.

Something in him knows the cracks in his healing crystal of a heart cannot be mended without seam, but can create new shape if he's careful enough—shape within itself, depth new to him.

He struggles in the hall so alone between the two doors far from his own room. There should be people in these rooms, a loving mother and a curious boy, but there is no one but himself in the entire house—an almost physical slap of isolation forcing him to see their effects in a way he'd deftly avoided.

It was always easier to carry the burden than try without that burden's gifted shield for its weight. It was always easier to assume it was his role in life, his lot returned. It was never just in the Manor, never just in his own marriage by creating a reality for Scorpius to always know, but _here_ within the home he'd purchased for their safety and comfort and his need for personal reflection that he'd walled himself tightly away out of that loathing and fear and acceptance of _less_ in life.

Draco leaves the hall in an emotional hurry, a quick and bothered grey glance spared to his son's door as he goes back downstairs with the urge to dust his jumper off, to brush such thoughts away from his waking mind. It's hard to admit how shaken it leaves him, and prior to being with Harry, he'd have buried it all over again with an excuse of why it had been so necessary.

Not now, though. Not after Potter's grand job of breaking through walls that even Astoria couldn't, leaving Draco vulnerable to that outside winter wind's bitterly beautiful reality.

He takes some tea in the dining room, needing the little ritual to combat the guilt starting to eat at his consciousness. The Floo almost escapes his attention, and Draco frowns when he hears it, glancing to the calendar on the wall in the kitchen through the doorway to remember what day of the bloody week it even is. Saturday. One of several nights he spends alone.

Pleasant confusion wracks him when Harry breezes into the dining room with an impish grin matching his comfortable muggle jumper and trousers. Draco looks him over for any problems, finds nothing obvious, and accepts the kiss when Harry bends to give it to him warmly.

“Potter, what's going on?” he questions, more than curious as his lover rests a firm chin over his shoulder, bent over behind him. “It's not one of our nights.”

Harry snickers in his ear. “Thought you might like to have dinner.”

“It's Saturday. You have Lily.”

“Yes, I do. It's dinner with _us_ , Draco, in the flat.”

Brows arch. His face turns enough to feel his cheek brush against Harry's head. “Harry....”

Harry grumbles against his shoulder before sighing. “C'mon. Lily asked me if you would like to join us, and I thought it was a splendid idea.”

Heat flutters through his stomach, dances up his chest, and catches at his throat precisely where Harry kisses him softly. “I don't know,” he mumbles, entirely awkward.

“You're _wanted_ , Draco. You're not intruding into my time with my daughter.”

Draco's face tilts back, his arms moving to lift Harry's hands to rest around him. The dark head angles next to him, green eyes bright below the handsome brows. Glasses reflect in the light.

“You're sure?” he asks quietly.

“I'm sure,” Harry murmurs in reply. The first small sign of worry appears. “Everything okay?”

Draco bites his lower lip, not ready to revisit his earlier thoughts. “Fine. Give me a moment, and I'll pop in.”

Harry's grin is back, as bright as the loud smacking kiss to his cheekbone. “Brilliant. Thanks, babe.”

“You're _certain_ this is a good idea?”

“Yes. And I've wanted to try spending time together like this for a short while now, so this is a good test, right?”

Draco shyly waves Harry off, giving Potter a little eager push to usher him back to the Floo. Quickly he uses the loo and washes up, looks himself over in the mirror and pauses.

He almost doesn't recognize himself. He almost can't place the hint of smile, the soft and happy eyes, the bit of lip caught between nervous teeth as himself. A lifetime of struggling with emotions he'd been reared to deem unworthy, weakness, or worthless has left such a scar that even the slow healing of his son, Astoria, and now Harry in his life still has the occasional hiccup of self-awareness.

Still, his cheeks are rosy. His eyes are lined more than they used to be, but they're not violet tinted. His bit of stubble is there, rough enough just like Harry enjoys now and then for contrast to Draco's equally often clean shaven jaw. He looks happy, if nervous, but mostly he looks _hopeful_.

Draco coughs, embarrassed somehow by that as he straightens his shoulders and deems his appearance worthy of dinner. Nervously he goes to the Floo, grabs the powder, and enters after a call for the flat, appearing into Harry's living room to the smell of pasta and garlic, to soft laughter of a young girl and chuckles of her adoring father. Amused, Draco wanders towards the kitchenette, holding back his own laugh as Lily tries to stir sauce next to Harry near the cooker, both of them reeling back as she accidentally taps the fire's power in strength and the red in the pot splatters like someone had asked Seamus Finnigan himself to stir it.

There's something beautiful with each second of Harry's laughing panic as he calms the fire and helps Lily handle the sauce, both of them sporting new little bits of red across their noses and cheeks, matching the nearby cabinet. There's something warm and comforting, intimate in a way of longing, and as Draco stays back to watch the moment, he hopes that Scorpius will look at him the way Lily does Harry now, with large eyes of love and openness, with complete trust once he's reached out as much as he can.

His heart hurts a little, but he ignores the dull ache, happy to snicker as Harry turns the flames off entirely to handle the pasta. Lily continues laughing and teasing Harry for looking like he's got dragon pox over his glasses.

“She's right, you know,” Draco drawls handsomely, posed in the doorway with his shoulder leaning into the wood companionably. “You're speckled.”

Harry grins, and Draco smirks.

Lily darts about the table to Draco's side, excited as she waves. “Hi, Mr. Malfoy!”

“Hello.”

“Good thing you were over here. I kinda made a mess.”

“I saw.”

“Oh. Well, oops.” Lily glances over him, and her face falls _just_ the smallest bit. She sighs. “No chocolates.”

Harry's eyes go round behind his lenses as he sets the pasta in its new bowl, then attempts to clean his glasses. “ _Lily_. He's not bringing you chocolates _every_ time you see him. Be _nice_.”

“I didn't mean it like _that_ , Dad. Sheesh.”

“Yes, well, I suppose I'm a rude guest bringing no dessert for you.” Draco bows in a dramatic apology for the girl, winking, “Such short notice. Perhaps next time, mm?”

The brilliant smile is worth the pinch in his chest and the one in his finances, no matter how many boxes of chocolates he may purchase in the future.

“Okay,” she says, tucking her hair back.

“Lily, go clean up,” Harry calls, and Lily nods and trots past Draco humming under her breath.

Draco takes the opportunity to stride over to Harry's side, chuckling as Harry grabs for a small towel and tries to wipe his face clean. He tuts his tongue teasingly. “Missed a spot.”

“Where?” Harry asks, glasses on the counter, staring at him while trying to look down his nose for anything red. His eyes cross the slightest bit.

Draco can't help it. He laughs, leans close, and licks the invisible little white lie off of Harry's lower lip. Green flames up the way the fire on the cooker did, and Harry angles his face, giving Draco quick access to a much deeper kiss.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry groans _very_ quietly to himself. “Thank you for coming over. I'm glad you're here.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” Draco responds, pretending he's not the least bit flustered. “How's things been with Weasley since earlier this week? He still blabbering incoherently about me?”

“It's finally sinking in enough, I think. He's gone from shock and hoping I know what I'm doing to teasing me for not telling him by making constant references to you that no one else gets.”

“Like?”

“Like how he told a coworker Tuesday that I apparently prefer _blonds_ , much to her dismay when she asked me out for coffee,” Harry grunts, amused and annoyed by his best mate. “Or how Marsden and I bickered over the handling of a case yesterday morning, and Ron asked me after if that's foreplay for me now—if you just heckle me and it gets me hot. Said maybe it had sometimes in the past, too, and I just didn't want to admit it. Nearly threw my inkwell at him, and he got all fake offended, saying he was just _trying to be supportive_.”

Draco sneers haughtily and tugs Harry by his jumper's collar. “Well he's not wrong, now is he? It _does_ rouse you, Potter. But bickering had best be _all_ you do with this Marsden bloke. I shan't tolerate you having any _other_ rivals but _me_.”

Potter snorts, rolls his eyes playfully, and kisses him before moving the pasta bowl to the table. “So _that's_ what you're possessive about. _That_ is what makes you jealous. You unbelievable prat.”

“Now, now. Don't get disappointed. It's but one of _many_ things about you, _my love_ ,” he replies, voice silky in Harry's ear. One firm hand slips down behind Harry's back and gets a handful of curvy bum, letting go the instant Harry bites back a moan and Lily runs back to the table, refreshed.

The girl stops, seeing them so close together, and then frowns at Harry. “Dad, didn't you wash your face, too? You're really red. Like even your ears are.”

Draco laughs quietly and takes a seat at the table. “Perhaps he _missed_ a spot.”

“Perhaps _you_ did,” Harry mutters, flushed still, making Draco's brows bounce joyfully at the inference. “Sit, Lily. I'll get the rest of this.”

Lily glances between the pair of them, very observant of Draco's pleased smile and Harry's own mirroring one another. Harry finally sits down minutes later, and the table is full of pasta, sauce, garlic bread, cheeses, and cups of wine for them and some fizzy muggle drink Harry had gotten Lily as a surprise.

“Taste fine?” Harry asks him, watching Draco nod quietly.

Lily pauses with her fork, staring at him. “Why do you eat like that?”

“ _Lily_.”

Draco lifts his eyes to her, following her gaze back down to the elegant way he holds his fork. He shrugs, then tosses the pasta and sauce together, drizzles some olive oil and cheese across the top, and twirls a small bundle of noodles expertly at the side. “Something I was taught in my family for etiquette. We had Italian guests occasionally. Don't start at the center of the plate, don't cut the pasta, and treat it as the first course it is—with respect.”

“Huh,” Lily says, quite curious. “Never knew you should respect spaghetti. Dad, do we have more food for other courses?”

“Ah, no,” Harry confesses, chuckling. “Sorry.”

“It's simply habit, Lily,” Draco informs the pair of them, taking a second to swallow some wine as Harry's daughter immediately tries his method and struggles to get a nice, perfect bundle of pasta.

“This is _weird_ ,” Lily grumbles after her bundle gets far too big and half of it falls off the tines.

Harry rubs his fringe from his eyes. “Lily, manners.”

“Sorry. Does your son eat like that, too, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco quiets, trying to remember the last time he even _had_ such a meal with his son. Well before Astoria's illness had quickened. Well before the red Hogwarts Express had whisked his son away from him again.

“He does,” he replies, very much aware of Harry's suddenly concerned look at the strain in his tone. “I...taught him, when he was very little.”

“I bet you miss him,” Lily surmises, but smiles, trying to cheer him up again. “I miss my brothers, _sort_ of...oh, fine, I do. They're coming home soon!”

“Yes, I miss him.” Draco watches her twirl a noodle haphazardly with her fork, giving up his method. “I never had siblings to know what it's like, you know. You are lucky in that regard.”

“None? Really? Not even _one_ older brother to annoy you?”

“Nope. Not a single sibling.”

“But... _why_ not?”

Harry opens his mouth, but Draco cuts him off with a glance, suppressing the needless bit of worry. “My parents had an heir. They didn't see a need for more for some time, and then...there was too much going on to consider it, I suppose. Enough danger in the world.”

Lily quiets this time, staring at her father carefully. “When the bad wizard Voldemort was alive?”

Draco winces at the sound of that venomous name in that innocent voice.

Harry exhales over his glass of wine. “Yes, Lily.”

They eat in slightly strange silence after that, Draco purposefully avoiding _both_ Potters staring at him over the table. Harry asks for the sauce, and Draco passes it to him as Lily pipes up again with an inquisitive, “So what's the difference between boyfriend and partner?”

Harry catches the sauce as Draco drops the damn bowl, and they avoid an even worse splattering over the table with Harry's reflexes. Draco coughs several times and drinks the rest of his wine, needing the alcohol at this point for an entirely different reason.

“Well...a boyfriend doesn't have to be someone in a terribly serious relationship, Lily. They could be in something more casual, too. A partner...it means...more, generally, a different seriousness or the like, or sometimes it's just the preferred term,” Harry tries to explain, carefully ladling out more sauce for his second plate of pasta. “Our situation is...well, we've been serious in a unique way.”

“And _you're_ partners.”

“Yes. He's a good man, Lily. I know it's still strange for you...for everyone, I'm sure, but...I want you to get to know him. I want...things to keep getting closer between us all, and that includes his son and me, too, not just Draco and you and your brothers.”

Harry's daughter immediately eyes Draco.

Draco just finishes his garlic bread, chewing to hide his pleasure at that confession—at how seriously Harry takes his own wish to bond with Scorpius.

“Do you love him like you loved Mum?”

The table goes silent. Draco pauses, fork nearly at his lips, grey eyes huge as Harry takes one deep, steadying breath. His partner leans over his plate, elbows on the table, and considers Lily very seriously. “Yes, Lily. I love him _very_ much.”

“But you _loved Mum_.”

“I did. Some part of me always will. Your mum and I have known each other a very long time, too. We grew up together as friends, Lily, and like we told you, that bond isn't something we wish to lose just because the love we had has changed.”

Lily thinks over this as Draco toys with the idea of a second helping, feeling dreadfully awkward.

Harry reaches and pats her shoulder reassuringly. “Love is...complicated, Lily. There's many kinds of it. My...history...with Draco is _very_ complicated, too, but I think in the end we just...got off on the wrong foot until it felt too late. And then, one day, I understood that much of our problems were stemming from something else I didn't see, but he did. Feelings—like rejection and rivalry, hope and...being curious about one another. Over...time...I came to think about it a great deal, and I fell in love with Draco. I just couldn't...tell him for a while.”

“Why?”

“Because though he saved my life twice, risked himself, and stood against everything he'd been taught to help me, I _did_ love your mum that way still,” Harry professes. “I wasn't ready to handle that love for him yet. I was when she and I discussed divorcing.”

Lily twirls one of her last noodles with her fork and turns, viewing Draco with something that makes him _entirely_ nervous. “Do _you_ love Dad?”

“I...yes,” he replies with a heavy swallow against the sound of Harry's apologetic sigh. “I do.”

“As much as you loved _your_ wife?”

“Romantically more. My wife was...my best friend more than...my wife. Harry—your father—was special to me in a different way.”

Lily frowns at that. “Did you tell her that you loved Dad?”

“Lily,” Harry begins, rubbing his brow. “Draco, you don't have to explain everything.”

Draco holds his palm up, but he takes one larger sip of wine with the hopes he, too, won't choke on it. “She can ask questions, Harry. I think...they deserve questions. Yes, Lily, I told her. Many years ago, before my son was ever born.”

“Wow. You loved Dad _that_ long?”

“Longer.”

Lily's previously scrunched, contemplative expression morphs into shy cuteness as she sees Harry bite his lip and smile Draco's direction. “Why?”

“As I said, he's special. Always so very special. Brave, handsome, and blindly helpful, though good intentioned most of the time even if it _did_ annoy me as a youth. A young man of justice and love, strength and power. Only a fool would underestimate him,” Draco tells her, ignoring the flushed, satisfied expression settling over Harry across from him. “Everyone needed him, Lily, but I...needed him...and couldn't ever say.”

“Because you were boys? Why would that matter?”

“It just...did back then. And we were rivals, and I didn't think he'd _believe_ me. I told you once I'm not easy to befriend. I definitely wasn't at that age.”

“Is Dad _your_ first partner, then? _Boy_ partner.”

Harry drops his napkin at the other end of the table, looking thoroughly embarrassed at where the dinner has deviated from his private hopes, while Draco clears his throat again and motions for the wine bottle, accepting it graciously from Harry's extended grasp. He pours another glass, answering, “Yes, he is the first. The _only_. The one who...always mattered, even if there were other blokes I found attractive.”

“And you're Dad's only boy partner, too.”

“He is, yes,” Harry answers proudly.

“I'd better be his only _current_ partner,” Draco says, glancing over the table with a subtle flirtatious smirk. “Your father's a...rather popular fellow, Lily, as I'm sure you've noticed all your life. I do not doubt that many a witch and wizard will wish to be at his side the way I am, and they're welcome to drown themselves in jealousy.”

“You think they'll fancy him now with Mum and Dad separated?”

“I have no doubts.” Draco toasts his glass towards Harry. “But I'm a very protective man, and they can certainly try to test it.”

Harry chokes on the last sip from his glass.

Lily giggles and reaches over to pat her father's back.

Draco watches them, and somewhere in his mind his hope for his own son springs forth for him to ask her, gently, “Does it bother you? That I am his partner, and that I am a bloke? That I...feel for him how I do?”

“Hm?” Lily questions in turn, sitting upright in her chair again. “Oh, no. Mum and Dad have always said you love the one you love. That doesn't bother me.”

Draco takes the risk, feeling it's easier with the wine in his belly. “You're not...angry with me for...being in his life and therefore...your own to a degree?”

Harry holds his breath.

Lily shakes her head and plays with her napkin. “No. I was sad at first about...lots of things, but I'm not mad at you. You've never been mean to me or Mum. And, well...Dad is...he's....”

Harry's still not said anything, sitting there in concern watching his daughter's eyes slide to him and away.

“So it's not _just_ the chocolates, then,” Draco mutters with joking relief, hoping to avert a problem between the father and daughter. “I won't have to buy out the shop after all.”

“Nope!” Lily agrees, fine once more.

“Good.”

The rest of dinner passes with thankfully less awkwardness and mostly discussion of Lily's excitement for her own turn on the Hogwarts Express next year. Draco chats with her, handing Harry dishes as Potter spells the sink with something clever to wash them, and he withdraws later, standing by the Floo and staring out the window at the first hint of soft snowflakes touching the glass.

Harry moves about the kitchen, cleaning the prior bit of mess up and whistling to himself, and Lily appears at Draco's left, watching the tiny flurries dancing outside, too.

“D'you hear that?” she whispers, not blinking, looking determinedly forward with suddenly wet eyes.

Draco listens, hears Harry's whistling, and nods.

Lily exhales, closes her eyes, and smiles to herself with something well beyond her years. Draco's heart tightens in his chest at seeing a sweeter, childlike version of the accepting, relieved smile that had once been on her mother's bittersweet lips in the elevator that day. The little hand reaches for his wrist and holds it like she had standing before Astoria's grave. And she whispers again just for his ears, “It's been...so long since.... Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.”

“For?” he wonders, but accepts her hold on him.

Harry changes tunes, something even more melodic and faster paced, and Lily opens her eyes up at Draco instead of the window, seizing his gaze. She squeezes about his pulse.

She doesn't speak when her father begins to alternatively hum when he's not whistling.

She doesn't say anything when Harry laughs to himself, muttering about a spot of sauce landing on the damn ceiling somehow.

And as Draco stares down at her with his own gratitude, Lily knows she doesn't have to explain at all.

 

 

 


	44. m a l a c h i t e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Two chapter upload. Sorry for the wait; I'm working on two new Drarry one-shots. ;) ]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

44.

 

m a l a c h i t e

 

 

The following Tuesday, the night before Scorpius is scheduled to return, he sits in front of the fire in his study. He's paced the floors, cleaned out of nervous energy with spells _and_ by hand, and considered slamming back his entire remaining stock of Dreamless Sleep just to knock himself out.

Draco's restless because he wants to change things and doesn't want to seem strange for it. Draco's angry admitting mistakes he's made not in Hogwarts but in this house. And without her here to comfort him, guide him, and tell him what he might do wrong, Draco is anxious as fuck about making a fool of himself or being a burden _to_ his son.

He hears the steps instead of the Floo, and he looks up at the door, surprised to see Harry there looking his usual mixture of happy and shy. For a second his mind is full of memory, and Draco gets the odd urge to check the wood in front of him for scattered pages of the letters that changed it all.

Harry bites his lip, looking him over. “Figured you might be up. Nervous?”

He's too sapped to even talk, really, so he nods, sitting there on pillows on the floor in his emerald pants and thin white shirt. Harry bends to sit by him. Draco holds his hand out of second nature at this point, feeling more solid the second the rougher, warmer fingers weave between his.

“It's up to you when and how to talk about us, Draco—about _yourself_ , too. Don't carry so much pressure, babe. Enjoy some time with him first.”

“I plan to do so. I've some shopping on the list and a few ideas to entertain him.”

“Good. That's great, Draco.”

“Harry, I'm nervous, yes, but I'm _excited_. I haven't seen him in what feels like a fucking year even though it's only been a few months. So much has _changed_ in my life since the summer and start of his term...in his life, too,” Draco quietly admits, crossing his bare feet at the ankles and warming his toes with the nearby glowing flames. “I want to _keep_ changing things. For the better. It's not enough that I've protected him so much—not if I did so at the cost of what could be a closer bond with him. It's all just...I don't know. Nonsense in my head. How do you do it?”

Harry smiles with the firelight dancing over his lenses. “Do what?”

Draco rolls his eyes, free hand gesturing. “You know, be the adorable father you are. It's like someone wanting to put me through a N.E.W.T. for Herbology if I try.”

“Not...entirely sure what you mean. I'm just myself. So just be _yourself_.”

“Harry, _that_ is what makes me nervous.”

“He'll _like_ you, you know.”

Draco sighs, frustrated. “I know. Doesn't stop me being stupidly awkward. If I'm lucky, he'll laugh at me instead of run away.”

“ _Babe._ Come on, I'll make you feel better,” Harry grunts and shoves to his feet. He tugs Draco by the hand, leading him to the bedroom. A hot, wet tongue licks his neck once they stand next to the bed. “Tonight...is probably our only night together for a little while—at least for, ah... _things_.”

“Unfortunate, but true,” Draco agrees, fingers edging along Harry's trousers to cup the hard erection waiting for him. “Why, _hello_.”

Harry snickers at him and thrusts slightly into his palm. “ _Hi_. Do you know how lucky I was at dinner Saturday not to do this when you grabbed my bum?”

Draco grins delightedly. “I recall you blushing rather intensely.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I _like_ you getting a little possessive,” Harry confesses, bold jaw shadowed by the dimmer light in his bedroom. 

“Good to know. You seem to enjoy when I'm dominant.”

“Absolutely.”

“Like when I fucked you in the kitchen.”

“Mm,” Harry groans and leans close to kiss along Draco's throat. “ _Yes_.”

The idea crosses Draco's mind, and the awful, horrible grin appears. “Sit here. Face that way.”

Harry obeys, mostly out of curiosity, and Draco steps quickly to his wardrobe, flinging shirts and hangers out of the way until he finds what he's looking for in the back. Green, silver, and soft, it slides through his fingers when he tugs it free, and he walks back to where Harry sits on the bed, facing the wall.

His lips leave seductive kisses at Harry's jaw, and he whispers intimately, “Close your eyes.”

“This is _new_.”

“Shush. Close them.” Draco waits until he peeks around Harry's head and sees the eyes closed behind the glasses, then gently removes the frames and folds them to rest near Harry's pillow. Lip between his teeth, Draco slides the object from his closet around Harry's eyes and ties it behind his head.

Harry gasps quietly. “Right, so what's that?”

“That, _Potter_ ,” Draco whispers again, pausing to lick at Harry's earlobe, “is my Slytherin House tie.”

“ _Wow_. Draco, you.... I, uh... _wow_.”

“I'm going to do terribly naughty things to you.”

“While I'm blindfolded.”

“While you're blindfolded. Unless you'd rather I tie your _wrists_. Or you tie _mine_.”

Harry gulps adorably. “Um... _that_ sounds hot. I don't care. Wish I had _my_ House tie.”

“Bring it another time, and I'll stow it here for you,” Draco offers helpfully. Fingers slide down Harry's sides and lift his shirt, tugging the soft material up. Harry holds his arms for Draco to pull it over them and his head, and then Draco tosses the garment to the floor. Smirking devilishly, he rotates Harry with his palms and presses back, resting his hands over Harry's stomach.

His warm lips touch over Harry's thudding heart, and his partner groans beneath him, clenching fists into the covers as his head turns side-to-side beneath the tie. Draco licks one sienna nipple, then the other, grazing his teeth over the right one enough that Harry's hips buck beneath him.

Draco reclines on his heels, taking in the gorgeous sight of Harry Potter half-naked on his bed with that Slytherin tie about his eyes. His cock is ridiculously hard in his pants just staring at his partner waiting with anticipation. His smirk returns, and Draco reaches and yanks Harry's zipper down on the muggle trousers, stealing Harry's breath in the process. Slowly he works them down his lover's thighs and off his legs, then does the same to the black pants after.

The reddened, needy hardness against Harry's left thigh makes Draco yearn, and he bends, kissing his love's belly and stroking him all in one move.

“Ah! _Ahh_. Mm.”

“Like the blindfold?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good, Potter,” Draco sighs, satisfied, adjusting to add his tongue and mouth to the strokes and nearly sending Harry over the edge too soon.

Harry cries out loudly. “ _God_ , the tie makes it hotter.”

Draco chuckles and presses a quick kiss to Harry's thigh, grinning as Harry quivers with sexual excitement beneath him. “Agreed,” he says, and slips his lips over the head of Harry's cock for a rougher suckle and a smooth lick under the tip.

Harry almost whimpers, the sound is so soft. “ _Mmph_. Babe, won't lie, getting really into this tie thing.”

“Excellent,” Draco teases, kisses the hidden scar, and pulls away. “I promise to be careful.”

“With?”

Draco shifts away long enough to strip his own nightclothes off, and then he straddles over Harry's warm lap, naked groin to groin. Draco rubs them together, _thoroughly_ enjoying the way his sac rests to Harry's.

Harry swallows, knuckles cracking in their grips on the sheets. “ _Oh._ ”

“Relax,” Draco says, grabbing the bottle on his night stand. “Almost empty. Pansy's going to mock me when I request more now.”

“ _I'll_ pay her if it means I get to use my tie on you next time.”

“How lovely,” Draco murmurs, then tunes Harry out long enough to touch himself, slip a finger then two inside, hoping it'll be enough. He moans a little, and Harry stops chatting to himself about bedposts. Draco sucks his lower lip and grabs hold of Harry's cock with his other hand, stroking it with his thumb moving in circles to spread the wetness.

Harry thrusts his hips beneath Draco, rubbing them together without seeing it, and Draco hisses through his teeth. His fingers withdraw from inside of himself, and Draco rises on his knees with a deep breath. He gets more lubrication with the hand that had been loving Harry, and quickly he slicks Harry's cock while his lover quivers. Then, with one final grin, he shifts, back to Harry and straddles him again.

“Wait, what are you—”

“Don't move.”

“O-Okay.”

Draco lines Harry beneath him, gasping and startling excitedly when the hard tip brushes him. Carefully he lowers himself, the moan loud as his eyes clench and his stomach and leg muscles tighten, struggling slightly with the size and gravity. Harry moans with him, blindly reaches for him and grasps over his calves, holds onto his ankles.

“Merlin's fucking _balls_ , yes, Draco!” Harry shouts, his breathing ragged behind Draco.

When Harry is partially inside, Draco himself breathes out in relief. Gently he puts his one palm over his thigh, the other over Harry's leg, and he lifts himself a little, testing the feeling before slowly sliding up and down.

Grey eyes close as his head falls back, and Draco moves faster, up and down, shallow and rough, spearing himself with that blessed Chosen cock. Harry's hands lift from his ankles and poke his back, then settle quite happily over his hips; his partner helps him move even while blindfolded, using his strength to help Draco's pace increase more and let him sink farther down upon Harry.

Full, entirely full in heart and body, Draco cries out Harry's name and holds Harry's hands over his hips. Each slide up feels _amazing_ , and each slide down is intense with so much contact between his bum and sac both brushing Harry. He takes from it, empowered, drawing Harry's vitality and virility through him and into Draco's very soul.

“ _Harry_. Harry, you feel so damn _amazing_ ,” he almost purrs with the sensations. “ _Yes_! _Mmph_ , Potter, I wish you'd been in me _years_ ago.”

“S-S-Same h-here. Just, _mm_ , don't stop—don't—don't— _ah_!”

“I-Imagine, Harry, what it could have been like if it had been so different. No blasted Dark Wizards, no Death Eaters, just us sneaking about the halls snogging every day and doing  _more_ somewhere secret.”

Harry whines behind him, his hips that were restraining from thrusting to let Draco be in control now starting to fidget with need.

“Imagine _us_. Imagine looking at me across the Great Hall before dinners seventh year, knowing you'd meet me _after_ to have me for dessert.”

“I...am. Oh, God, I _am_ ,” Harry grunts and grips his muscles tighter.

“That, _mm_ ,” Draco admits between breaths and moans as the soreness gets shoved far from his conscious mind, “that, Harry, was a youthful fantasy of mine, just so you know."

“ _Babe_ ,” Harry soothes, thumbs massaging his lower back on each side. “Hold on.”

“What?” Draco asks, pausing with Harry half-way inside him to look over his shoulder. Harry fixes his grip so it's stronger on Draco's lower hips, and Harry's teeth gnash over his lip. “Harry?”

His partner smirks at him, that tie so damn kinky above it. “Let me _try_ something.”

“All right....”

Draco holds still, unsure what Harry's going to do, and then his eyes bulge as he feels Harry thrust up into him while he holds him. Draco's mouth opens, his jaw drops, and he lets his weight rise and fall with Harry's control, lets Potter move him up and down while still _thrusting_ into him, and Draco stares across the room in sexual _awe_. With barely any spare consciousness, Draco's right hand lifts to his stomach and teases its way down to his throbbing cock. He touches himself to the rhythm of Harry's movements, mind ready to blow.

“Babe? This okay?”

“Perfect,” Draco declares, so turned on he wants to melt. “You're _perfect_ in bed.”

“ _Thank_ you.”

“You repeat that, and I'll deny it,” Draco manages to gasp between his laughter and his moans. “I swear, though, to _never_ deny how I love your cock.”

Harry's laugh is warm and arousing in its huskiness. “Yeah? Feel... _good_...in you?”

“ _Always_ ,” Draco sighs, the rush catching through him quickly. “Harder! There, Harry!”

His lover groans at his back and uses a burst of rough speed that coincides with Draco's tighter grip on himself. Draco's heart skips a beat, his breath catches in his throat, and he comes heavily, sounding out his pleasure when his voice decides to return. Harry thrusts three more times and holds him very still as he comes inside Draco with a loud moan of Draco's name. Draco closes his eyes, feeling it, absorbing the energy of that powerful release.

“ _Draco_ ,” Harry whimpers. “Malfoy, you...I-I wish....”

“I know. I know, Potter,” he whispers, understanding there with Harry still inside of him. The soreness quickly starts to tease its way back to the foreground of his mind as the pleasure slowly begins to recede from his orgasm.

With sweet care Harry helps Draco lift himself slowly off. Draco grits his teeth at this discomfort, and he moves to lie on his stomach with the tenderness growing stronger. Harry pats around with his left hand for him, and Draco laughs softly, reaches for the tie, and tugs it up over Harry's brow slightly.

Eyes greener than his tie stare back at him, happy and nervous.

Draco smiles tiredly. His head falls to the bed below him.

Warm fingers rub their way down his back to massage his bum, and he mumbles a soft thanks. It's only after Harry also rubs down his legs and briefly over the arches of his feet that Draco finds the energy to clean up in the loo. He almost passes out during Harry's turn in the bathroom, but he wakes when his partner gets under the covers at his side.

Draco lets Harry spoon him comfortably, resting his sore lower back and bum to that flat belly and now softer groin. Lips leave little kisses over his shoulder.

“It'll be okay,” Harry whispers in his ear with a kiss to it, too. “You're a great father, Draco. I believe that. And I _know_ you're a good partner. Don't worry about _trying_. Just be _you_ and let us _see it_.”

Draco's face buries more into his pillow to hide the sudden blushing appreciation. The vulnerability is there, and instead of burying it, he softly asks, “Harry?”

“Yeah?” Harry replies with a nuzzle to his neck.

“Do...you really think...it'll all....”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

A palm dances around his back to his chest, resting right over his heart with claim. Draco smiles as Harry cuddles him closer. “Because, babe,” Harry says softly, sounding far away to Draco's sleepy brain. “It's our _time_.”

   
  
  
  


 


	45. o l i v i n e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

 

45.

 

o l i v i n e

  
 

He wakes early in the wintery day with the sun still hiding behind thick layers of dark grey clouds, as if hostage for another hour or two. Draco uses some minor cleaning spells with his wand, sprucing up his bedroom, study, and the living room when Harry finally rises from his muffled movements about the home. They share a comfortably quiet morning tea, and there at the table in his claimed spot, Harry holds Draco's hand between them; the green eyes never leave Draco's nervous gaze.

Draco tells Harry goodbye before the Floo after, and Harry drapes arms about his neck in the most pleasant sense of possession.

“I'll be there if you need me.”

“Harry,” he says, finally voicing what has stewed in his consciousness all morning. “What about...you? The boys....”

“Draco,” Harry counters with his smile of love and a kiss to Draco's mouth. “They'll be okay. Seeing you there will help me, too, even if you're not standing at my side.”

“You're sure.”

“Yes, babe.”

Draco kisses him back, long and languidly. “Know one thing regardless of the madness that may happen, Potter.”

Harry snickers and brushes his thumb over Draco's cheekbone. “S'that?”

“You have me,” he whispers, their eyes so near and open together, “you stubborn, romantic bastard.”

“I know,” Harry snickers with one last kiss. “Love you, Draco.”

"You, too," he says warmly.

Draco watches Harry Floo out, heart smiling shyly inside at the level of confidence his love carries. He checks the upstairs over one last time, looks for anything out of the norm with Scorpius's room, and then he returns back downstairs and slings on his winter cloak, gloves slipping over his pale hands.

He cuts a stunning figure in the black cloak with the bit of whiter fur at his neck, and he takes pride in that, lets it restore some of his own confidence when the grandfather clock chimes the hour. He takes Floo precisely to The Leaky Cauldron, and he walks the path behind many other parents attempting to blend in with muggles towards the station and its famous platform.

Eyes slide to look at him, dark and white among a pack of speckled patterns, fabrics, and shades, but even without a bright green to guild him or a blue to cool him or a red to enflame him, Draco is nonetheless walking in his own swatch of color, carrying it on the inside, painting his steps with a brush the rest cannot see. His hair reflects the prism, and his clothes absorb it in a cycle perfectly balanced.

It seems he blinks and is upon the platform, surrounded by crowds of parents and younger children all talking loudly in excitement. He shuffles through some of them, trying to find a calmer spot to stand visibly for his son. In the midst of the babbling, Draco hears some familiar tones, and he glances up along his left as more people arrive. The heart of the new crowd features several gingers, and Draco smirks, _pleased_ when he counts the dark wild head of hair amongst them caught up in the sea of eager families.

Harry stands surrounded by Weasleys with Ron at his right side supportively and Hermione on the other. A smiling Ginny holds Lily to her in front of the three, and the younger son of Granger and Weasley takes his cousin's hand excitedly.

His smile stays soft, but present as he finally gets a good glimpse of Harry through the people, and he holds it until Harry's curious head swings his way, its captive glance pinning him like a bolt of lightning.

Harry winks. Draco smirks. And then they hear the whistle.

Heart flipping in his chest, Draco searches the side of the platform and beyond. There, coming into vision, is the great red train that had once escorted himself so many times. And despite the _one_ terrible memory of misery and Harry on that train, Draco still sighs out in nostalgia with the rest, silent with his compared to those already talking in memory.

The train slows itself, its brakes and whistle hitting their ears with synchronized cacophony enough for Draco and several others about his space to wince. Then it is stopped with carriages in front of him and down either side, seeming never ending.

His weight shifts with his feet, the only way he can calm his nerves as children move inside the train visible through its windows. There are several carriage exits, and as he doesn't know which Scorpius will use, he stays near the middle front of the platforms, thankfully taller than many people present to stand out even more.

Grey eyes search as he stays like a silent sentinel waiting, and then his heart clutches when he gets a peek of the head of hair just like his exiting three carriages to his right. Draco turns, tempted to walk down that way, but he sees Scorpius step off the train with the help of Albus and Rose behind him, all pausing to aid each other with trunks. They laugh together at something said between them, and Albus walks in the middle of the trio, joining them together. Seeing that—the three of them with Harry's little look-a-like there with Scorpius so close—he again feels absolute pride and the smallest amount of his youthful envy.  
  
Draco notices the exact second Albus Potter sees Harry down the way because the boy freezes momentarily, looking both happy and yet wary and hopeful all the same. Harry and Ginny both view their son with great loving welcome, with no hidden sadness or awkwardness, and it calms Albus instantly. Scorpius bumps Albus's shoulder supportively as Rose watches her cousin with some concern.  
  
Farther back, two carriages behind them, James Potter walks with his own set of friends. Draco swallows his own worry as Harry's eldest freezes, too, with hope and hurt but also with the earliest hints of teenage ego trying to protect that vulnerability in his eyes.

Draco quickly looks Harry's way, sees the happiness and relief in his love's face for his first born's appearance, and he carries silent hope that James Potter will notice that love for him as much as Draco can.

“Look, Scorpius! There's your dad!”

Draco's head snaps back the other direction, and the smile lifts the left curve of his cheek as Albus elbows his son and Scorpius manages to find him with the bumbling parents weaving around him to hug children they've not seen for months.

He doesn't breathe. His heart skips a fatherly beat.

Because his son sees him and instantly _brightens_. His son sees him and animates. Scorpius's eyes light, his face relaxes, and he smiles widely, trying to wave while letting go of his trunk for a second to do so.

Draco's lips part. His expression softens so tenderly, his eyes wet before he closes them briefly.

It's almost as if she's standing next to him invisibly. Her presence is so strong.

He stays perfectly still, watching the children try to run with their trunks around others as safely as possible. He hears them call farewell to each other, and Draco stops noticing anything else. He can only focus on his child, his flesh and blood given life, his redemption in living, breathing form walking to him.

“Father!” Scorpius calls out mere steps away, breathing a little heavily with the trunk.

Draco moves and offers his hand for it, swerving the big container to the side. He drops hold of it as Scorpius stares up at him, clearly struggling with the desire to rush him with a hug but maintaining learned respectful distance. And Draco starts the first of his changes right then and there by reaching forward and pulling Scorpius to his chest, holding him tightly.

His son gasps, pleasantly surprised, and Draco bends his face while one of his hands cups the crown of Scorpius's head to his chest and the other presses firmly to his son's back. Arms slip inside his cloak and surround him, and a pointy nose sticks against his front.

Already Scorpius has grown without him to see it. Already his soft hair is higher to Draco's torso than it had been. Already Scorpius's thin shoulders are broadening just enough to notice with the little quiver going through them.

The ache is deep. It is warm. And it is beautiful all the same.

“I _missed_ you,” Draco says openly. Genuinely.

Scorpius leans back enough to place his chin where his nose had rested, eyes round and wide staring at him as they shine. Draco smiles, a gloved finger brushing very pale longer fringe from his son's brow. His son swallows, blinks rapidly, and sighs, “I missed you, too, Father.”

Draco inhales and keeps him close, the pair of them ignoring all the movement with its voices and laughter. For a moment of time only they stand together on the platform, and for a moment of time all that exists is the silent connection rebuilding itself stronger with this first step.

After a couple of minutes, Draco exhales shakily and withdraws enough to view his son more. Scorpius stares curiously, and Draco smiles. “Let's go home.”

“Okay, Father.”

“I'll get your trunk.”

“It's heavy.”

“Doesn't matter,” Draco assures him, grabbing the handle and keeping one arm about his son's shoulders. “Are you hungry?”

“Had breakfast on the train,” Scorpius admits, looking up at him.

“Are you tired?” Draco asks, sensing the excited energy starting to wear off the tiniest bit as they keep pressing forward.

Scorpius nods. “Didn't sleep much last night.”

Draco replies that he can nap when they get home, and he walks with Scorpius next to him, his spirit finally grounding after days of nervousness. Grey eyes pierce through the rest around them as they push against the tide, and he hesitates in a step only as he observes the love of his life bent to a knee holding Albus tightly while Ginny hugs James. Scorpius follows Draco's gaze, blinking as his father does when Harry lets Albus go and turns to James Potter.

James hugs his mother and waits, watching his father wearily.

Harry tugs the older boy close and kisses his head before bending to a knee again to be pressed closely to his more stubborn, uncertain son. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny watch behind Harry with concerned looks as Lily tackles into Albus with a hug of her own. Draco doesn't move, focused on the obvious whispering happening between Harry and James until James relaxes, his arms going quickly about Harry's neck. His face buries to Harry's cheek.

Ron Weasley chances that moment to look about and notices Draco staring with a little half-smile, and Weasley's immediate brow arch settles down into something more accepting. Draco lifts his head in acknowledgement and turns away before he sees Weasley's response.

Draco sighs, relieved, and continues onward, Scorpius at his side full of unspoken wonder. They walk closely as people disperse, and eventually they make their way to Diagon Alley. Children run past them excitedly chasing each other. Parents call out after them. And Draco notices Scorpius considering it all from afar the way he had for so long until his first Hogwarts term.

“Would you like to...browse?” he asks. “We're here, after all.”

Scorpius shakes his head, concentration on him again. “I'm fine, Father.”

Draco frowns slightly, but nods in acceptance. He ushers his son to the Floo at The Leaky Cauldron and uses it to go home. He smiles at his son's back when they enter the living room, but it falls as Scorpius becomes still.  
  
The trunk sits near the stone of the Floo, and Draco lays a hand over his son's shoulder. “Scorpius?”

“Did it...become empty, Father?” Scorpius asks as he tries to take it all in at once.

“A little,” Draco answers honestly. Gently he guides Scorpius to the sofa and sits him down, resting next to him with his arm along the back. “It's gotten better. And it will continue to do so.”

Scorpius leans against his arm. “Truly?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because _you_ are here,” Draco murmurs with soft eyes. “Your presence warms it.”

Scorpius smiles.

Draco does, too.

“But it's not been bad, right?” Scorpius questions hopefully. “I remember your letter. What did you want to talk abo—”

Draco clears his throat, and Scorpius stops speaking. “We can talk about that later. For now I want you to enjoy being home. I want you to relax. I've some plans for the two of us, but if you'd rather stay home most of the holiday, I'd understand.”

“Plans? Like what?”

“Like our shopping tradition.”

Scorpius's brows rise. “We'll...still...? Without Mother?”

Draco nods. “She'd want us to keep tradition, Scorpius, not stop all on her account.”

“Okay. Yeah, we can go!”

“I also considered taking you to Hogsmeade. I know you're too young yet to have gone with any chaperones at Hogwarts, but I think you'd enjoy the shops and butterbeer.”

“Absolutely,” Scorpius agrees, the eagerness uplifting in his tone. “Thanks, Father.”

Draco graciously bows his head. “And decorating the house and tree as well as another idea or two. Surprises.”

“Why so much?”

“What do you mean?”  
  
“I don't know. Mother usually took us both shopping or decorated with me.”

“Because I am glad to have you home, Scorpius,” Draco tells him, nerves starting to dance. “I didn't decorate because I wanted your help, and...it's always been something you enjoy. You know what to do with the bloody things. I'm rubbish at it.”

Scorpius shyly taps his foot to the floor. “But you're not, Father. It was always you who fixed the tinsel and put Mother's hat on top.”

“Being tall has its responsibilities, I suppose.”

“I _mean_ you saw what to fix and did it for us. You're not rubbish at decorating, Father.”

Draco waves his palm in surrender to the little discussion. “Fine. I'm not, if you say so.”

“I do.”

He chuckles to himself, resting back into the sofa in his cloak still. “Very well. I'll light the fireplaces. Didn't want them going without me here.”

“I'll get my things to my room,” Scorpius says, sitting upright to see his trunk past Draco's side on the sofa. Scorpius winces. “It'll be heavy up the stairs.”

Draco snickers, pushes to his feet, and withdraws his wand from its pocket. “Watch,” he orders, and with a swish and flick, charms the trunk as he calls out, “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.”

Scorpius grins as it floats near Draco's knees. “Brilliant, Father. I should have thought of it.”

“Some might call it lazy,” Draco smirks, “but wasting one's time when magic suffices is simply using what we're taught.”

His son pushes from the sofa and wanders off to the stairs, looking over his shoulder with his grin only widening as Draco guides the levitated trunk behind his son. They slowly climb the stairs, and Draco lifts his wand higher until the trunk floats up over the banister and carefully settles onto the second level floor. He waves the charm off, and Scorpius pulls the trunk into his bedroom.

Draco stands in the hall, hoping worriedly that everything will go well. It's easy to see Scorpius is excited to be home, and it is also easy to understand the random pauses in his son's happy movements, as if each moment of thrill is punctuated with grieving guilt cutting it short.

He steps into the room and rests his hand over Scorpius's hair. “I will never tell you that you cannot miss her or be sad, Scorpius.”

Scorpius flinches as if he's been caught doing something dreadful.

Draco bends enough to press a soft kiss to his son's head. “But don't feel guilty for smiling. For being happy. She wouldn't want you to feel that way, now would she?”

“No,” Scorpius mumbles, but his voice is breaking.

“Then relax,” Draco tells him. “And take your sleep if you want it now. Today is for you to relax, understand? Whatever you wish.”

“I will. I will, Father. Thanks.”

Slowly he pats Scorpius upon his head and angles away. “I'll be downstairs. Once the fires are lit, I might take a rest, myself.”

Scorpius nods readily, and Draco exits the room, breathing out heaviness and breathing in his own need to relax. Downstairs, he removes his cloak, gloves, and shoes, striding about in stockings to carefully light the fireplaces with his wand. Occasionally he hears soft sounds upstairs as Scorpius moves about or unpacks or whatever he's chosen to do, and after months of silence when he's alone in the house, it is far more reassuring than he'd expected it to be. Wholesome.

Draco falls back upon his bed and burrows into Harry's pillow for the bit of scent still clinging to the fabric. He calms by degrees, exhaling with that scent there to inhale with each breath, and slowly his eyes flutter closed, his palm open over the empty side of his bed where his partner slept this morning.

Instinctively he jerks aware to a sound that has woken him in so many instances over the years—that little patter of feet now slightly louder with age and growth. Draco waits, then shrugs, assuming Scorpius has gone down to the kitchen for a snack after all.

But his door creaks ever so slightly.

A grey eye cracks open, and Draco tilts his face as Scorpius eases into view as quietly as possible. His son, without his own winter wear, looks smaller, but still taller. A thin light blue jumper Astoria had gotten him a few Christmases ago keeps him warm in the house still heating with its fires, and he's exchanged his nice trousers for some comfortable night pants.

Draco doesn't blink as they make eye contact. His son struggles at first, even starts to back out of the room for guilt or feeling too childish or perhaps even nervousness _of_ Draco, as joining him usually required nightmares, upsets, or the like to share his father's private space.

The little ritual between them goes further back than Draco's ever told another soul, back to Scorpius in his infancy being sensitive to the dark magic that had bled into the Manor's walls...back to Lucius refusing that magic had existed and constantly stating that Draco was simply weak, letting the boy _control_ him with his cries. That it was just a harsh lesson all must learn to be left alone, that not letting the child cry it out _every single time_ was just _coddling_ Draco's then four-month-old child.

And Draco makes a decision now the way he did then to ignore his father's learned advice.

Draco lifts his palm and keeps it open and waiting in the air. Scorpius's eyes seem wet at the slight distance in the filtered light of the curtains, and he takes one hesitant step and then another. Each one trembles. Each one breaks Draco's heart. They have for years in bittersweet harmony.

The smaller hand slips over his, and Scorpius catalogues the comparisons and differences internally as Draco does—their similar shape and paleness, and Draco's lengthy fingers and broad palm that are still big enough to wrap over Scorpius's easily.

Draco scoots backwards and gives a light tug, and Scorpius climbs onto the bed next to him. His free arm lies over Scorpius's side, and his other arm remains beneath his pillow and their heads. Scorpius grips the hand still in his grasp.

“Did you...did you really miss me that much?” Scorpius questions, voice so little.

Draco closes his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek in punishment. But then he squeezes Scorpius closer to him. “Yes, Scorpius. I know I have...never been the greatest at showing how much the two of you mean to me. I wasn't...given great example from my own parents. But that problem doesn't define how I feel, and it isn't to say that I didn't miss you deeply every day.”

“I know you love me, Father, and Mother always said you were more a man of showing than telling when it came to the _important_ things.”

“She's right. I can talk my way around annoyances and grievances, and I am...getting better, I think, at discussing emotions.”

“You are,” Scorpius commends him sweetly. “I can...tell. Does that mean you made a new friend, too?”

“Yes,” Draco tells him, a little rosy in the cheeks. “I did. But...Scorpius, I am....”

“Hm?”

“I'm....” He breathes out. “I'm _sorry_. I've only ever wanted to keep you safe from everything I could. Even...me, I guess.”

“Why from you? You _make_ me feel safe,” Scorpius says, making him smile. “Mother always said you'd protect us no matter what, and I believed her because you always made the dreams go away.”  
  
“Even so, I protected you too much. You lacked a...childhood you could have had. You have friends at school now that you should have had before.”

Scorpius doesn't respond, and it unsettles his stomach.

Draco bites his lip. “You cannot know how precious you are to me. You are...everything _good_ in me mixed with the kindness and love of your mother. Each letter you sent from school made me more proud of you for being yourself when others could try to define you only for being _my_ son.”

“In one of my classes, they spoke about the bad times. What you lived through. And the professor, she said Albus's father was a hero,” Scorpius confesses, hugging Draco's hand near his chin. “But she said...if it weren't for _my father_...his father could have died again. You helped Mr. Potter fight. You helped end the War. You're a hero, too, Father.”

Draco fights back the pain in his chest, the moisture in his eyes. “Not everyone thinks so, Scorpius. Not everyone wants to give me credit for that decision.”

“Then they're wrong. You're a hero, and I'm proud of you.”

Draco brushes his face to Scorpius's head, hiding the aching smile and tear on his cheek.

They rest in the quiet until Scorpius asks, almost ashamedly, “Am I...too old to be in here? Does it make me...silly?”

“No,” Draco answers immediately, refusing that doubt to exist in his son. “You can come in here whenever you need. I don't care how old you are. You're _my son_. And fu—the rest of the world can _shut up_ and keep such trivial expectations to themselves. Your grandfather's opinions have no power here. I _won't_ let them.”

Scorpius adjusts slightly under his arm with a yawn. “Thanks, Father.”

“Rest,” Draco urges lovingly.

Scorpius yawns again and grows heavier between his arms. Draco stays awake long enough to be sure Scorpius descends into sleep before nuzzling him once and succumbing to the nap's siren song.

Not once does his son wake startled and afraid, and not once does Draco let go of Scorpius in his sleep.  


 


	46. w i n t e r g r e e n _ d r e a m

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

46.

 

w i n t e r g r e e n    d r e a m

 

 

The first few days of Scorpius's holiday break pass in a delicate balance of awkward small talk, watching one another, and having simultaneous true emotional awareness of Astoria's absence. Without her during the past months alone, Draco has found a different way to operate daily; he had to do so for the house to stay maintained and his mind to not lose itself to the isolation. His son has endured something similar with the distraction of friends and school, but with each here now as a reminder in the quiet space void of her laughter or red smiling lips watching them, they are vulnerable. Uncertain and hopeful.

Draco teaches Scorpius how to use his wand to direct the decorations the way Astoria used to do for him, sitting by himself as his son lines the doorways with little lights and bits of green. Inside he smiles each time Scorpius looks back to him, as if checking he is both still present and approving of his work, and Draco simply nods, eyes open and warm.

Morning of the third day, Draco walks out with Scorpius through the crunchy hard ground of the garden and out the back gate to the woods south of the property. They find a small, stout spruce, and Draco flicks his wand, felling it with some very carefully placed heated magic. A charm floats it slowly back with Scorpius running about the other side to keep a close eye on the tree in case of wobbling, and together they manage to get it inside the house with a few bumps, grumbles, and curses on Draco's end of it. Draco observes Scorpius treating the water for the tree the way Astoria always had to keep it healthy through January, as she liked the green to stick around as long as possible to get indoor saplings from its saved cones to plant in its stead with a little encouraged magical growth.

Draco creates a spread of butter and jams for toast, eggs, and tea, again smiling to himself as he hears his son thumping about the house to bring down the decoration boxes excitedly with adorable loud humming of Christmas tunes. The joy in it, the hope in it, is _so_ like Harry after dinner with Lily that he pauses pouring the water for tea, his heart clenching just a moment to itself.

He calls Scorpius for breakfast at the table, smirking as the boy comes rounding through the doorway, forcibly slows down, and trots the rest of the way with his taught manners from two Pureblooded parents. Draco gestures at the hot chocolate for Scorpius, endeared when his son lights up excitedly and reaches for the hot cup.

“All finished?” he asks, amused as Scorpius digs into his eggs with hunger.

Scorpius nods, chewing quickly. “Mm-hm. Mm. Mm-mm.”

“Yes or no, son?”

“Ugh,” Scorpius grunts, swallowing too large a bite in his excitement. “Need your help, Father. It's Mother's hat. I didn't, um...know where....”

Draco nods politely, and after the shared comfortably quiet breakfast, he heads upstairs and opens her bedroom door. He mutters words of respect as the hatbox slides out from the closet shelf, and he pops it open upon her still made bed.

The presence at the doorway hesitates, and Draco glances past his shoulder. “You can enter, Scorpius.”

“Oh. Okay.” Scorpius steps in as one terrified of noisy wooden floors might, taking the most gentle of walks to his side.

Draco tugs the witch's hat out of the box and hands it to him. “Here.”

Scorpius examines the hat, red and jolly with hints of sewn white accents and spelled transfigured holly permanently attached to the tip. Pretty sheer ribbons stream down the back of it lengthily to the floor with Scorpius holding it at his chest.

“Do you remember?” his son asks him softly.

“Yes,” Draco replies just the same. “You were four and said if we all had our hats, then so should our tree. You asked her to give it one of hers—the one you liked most.”

Scorpius smiles, fingers brushing the fabric's velvet brim.

Draco pats his shoulder, puts the box away, and strides out of the room. For a moment his son is lost to time and standing much as he does when he is lost to it as well, seeming in two places at once with the simplest of reminders for memory to consume them both. And then he coughs under his breath, and Scorpius starts, jerking aware and stepping quickly out into the hall with him to shut the door.

“I can almost reach it,” Scorpius says, standing on tip-toe around the tree downstairs. It rests at the front window on the other side of the Floo, and his son attempts to reach the top with the front facing them. He falls to his heels again, frustrated, and holds the hat out. “You do it. I can't.”

“Just because I _have_ used my height to decorate in the past doesn't mean I need to do so,” Draco counters and crosses his arms. “You're learning things at that school, or you should be. Show me what you can do when you can't reach something.”

Scorpius twists his mouth, but thinks about it. He brightens, grabs for his wand on the table by the sofa, and with a little expert swish and flick, calls out his own _Wingardium Leviosa_ charm. Draco moves closer as Scorpius lifts his wand, ecstatic with the hat floating up, up, and up until he can't quite see how to settle it back down.

“Forward,” Draco urges, stepping near the Floo to glance around the tree. “A little more. Now stop. Slowly lower it.”

His son stares up at the hat determinedly, wand following Draco's instruction. And with another moment or two, the hat settles comfortably atop the tree. Draco reaches to adjust the ribbon trails down the back.

Scorpius moves to his side with a large grin. “I did it, Father!”

“An excellent job. Get the tinsel. You hang the ornaments. Use the charm for the higher spots.”

“But if they fall, they'll break.”

“Have faith in yourself, Scorpius,” Draco murmurs, taking the silvery softness from his son's outstretched hands.

Scorpius blushes somewhat, but accepts his words. Together they spend the next half an hour making little adjustments, both using wands and hands, quietly moving in sync. Draco notes Scorpius stare at a spot for a red and white spiraled glass bulb to go, and the expression on his son's face is _precisely_ the same one on his when he glances to the window around the tree after.

It soothes his heart, his worries, to visibly see more than the physical similarities between them.

He sits over the sofa at one point, taking a break and resting his eyes. His mind wonders to Harry, to if Harry's doing well with the boys and how the family is getting on. Scorpius taps his hand to get his attention, and Draco blinks back into awareness. He views his son moving to stand by the tree with pride, and that same pride is in his eyes only for Scorpius himself.

“Well done,” Draco commends him. The red, white, and spiraled dual bulbs are spread as evenly as possible around the tree, careful not to overhang much near the tinsel he's positioned.

“Now the lights.”

“Yes.”

“Can I try?” Scorpius asks, eager, yet afraid.

“Go ahead,” Draco assures him, not fearful at all.

Scorpius bends and digs through the ornaments box until he lifts a smaller locked one. With great care he opens it, treating it as preciously as Draco had Astoria's hat upon retrieving it, and with damn good reason: Their lights are special. Made of crystal bulbs magically charmed to flicker together with the right spell, they're beautiful when correctly put on display and require specific handling to keep safe for the next year. The first year they'd been alone for the holiday season at the house, Draco had found them from a traveling merchant, some wizard who claimed to have used faery magic to charm the little things, and Draco had purchased them as a surprise for Astoria.

It was always her task to set and light them.

Scorpius retrieves the lights one at a time, resting them on the rug around him while Draco watches closely. And just as slowly, he places them one by one around the ornaments and tinsel, stepping back occasionally to get a better look. Once Scorpius seems satisfied, he looks to Draco for approval and gets a smile.

“Can I say the incantation?”

“Yes.”

Scorpius plucks the hidden bit of parchment from the box, unrolls it, and clears his throat. The tip of his wand touches one of the charmed glass balls, the first he placed up on the tree, and he whispers with intense focus, “ _Lux Simul_.”

Draco sits forward, curious to see if it works too brightly or not. The spell's been known to overwork, light them too brightly, and blink them back out of existence depending on how strong the caster's magical push is. But the magical light fills the one at his wand, then the rest in their charmed sequence, lighting up to the left and right of the tree, through the middle and bottom, near the top, and all the spaces in between. They twinkle together once to confirm they've lit properly, and then they flicker at different rates, like little off-white fires.

Scorpius slumps to his knees in relief, back of his hand wiping his brow with his wand still in its grasp.

And Draco stares at the tree and then his son, so fucking proud. “Well done, Scorpius.”

Scorpius gazes back at him, grateful and proud of himself.

As Draco watches Scorpius check around the tree to be sure all the lights have lit near the window's side of it, he realizes his little boy isn't so little anymore to concentrate so well. His beautiful child isn't four anymore and asking to be held to place an ornament.

He has grown. And happy as he is to always see the signs, they ache all the same, make him long for days of the past with them all gathered on the sofa watching the lights the way they used to do for what felt like hours, Astoria on one side of him under an arm, and Scorpius on the other, curled into his ribs.

Draco's eyes well up, and he closes them with a sharp inhale. Instead of the three of them sitting on the sofa in his mind's immediate vision, Harry sits on his left, arm around his waist, a smiling kiss to his cheek. Scorpius rests to his right under his arm, no longer just curled into his ribs but pressed to his legs and chest in a hug.

He opens his eyes and looks away, needing a moment to collect himself.

Scorpius eventually joins him, sitting on his right side—as if he, too, remembers and has his own wishes of the past. His son doesn't say anything, but he leans closely, putting a hesitant arm about Draco's middle that holds tighter when Draco's hand pulls him closer.

Head over his son's, chin atop that soft pale hair, he stares out the back window near his study door. The tear falls down his cheek the way the first snowflakes of the day do against the glass.

Grey eyes widen at what he sees on the other side. Pupils dilate.

And he blinks, forever wondering after that day if the image he sees of her in the window smiling at him is more than a simple figment of his longing imagination.

 

 

 


	47. m a u v e l o u s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

 

47.

 

m a u v e l o u s

 

 

Scorpius's eyes are huge, full of his reflection in the shop as he looks up at Draco with genuine awe. “Father?” he asks, swallowing the rest of his question.

“Suppose this won't be a surprise,” Draco teases, nodding to the broom keeper to wrap up the newest of the popular youth models that had caught Scorpius's eye as they'd passed the shop window in the Alley.

“But _Father_.”

It's expensive. He knows. And while Draco has never let Scorpius want for anything, he has been far more frugal than his past relatives ever have been in indulgence, too. Scrupulous in a different way. Investing in his son's future rather than an estate or a crowded house of hollow possessions.

Draco shrugs, knowing the cost isn't anything he's concerned about. “Scorpius, you don't have your own broom. It's time you do.”

“I'm not on the House team, though.”

“You might be one day if you wish to try out. And if not, you should always have one for yourself, regardless,” Draco tells him with a firm nod. He knows he'd always felt powerful on a broom, at one with himself when his life wasn't at risk upon it with fire at his back. “You can keep it at home and fly it all summer, if you'd rather do that.”

Scorpius takes his hand and squeezes his fingers, saying nothing more. His eyes boldly watch the smiling keep wrapping the broom, and the old wizard asks him what color he'd like for ribbon. Scorpius's eyes dart up to Draco's black winter cloak and green scarf and back. “Green.”

“Slytherin colors, aye, lad.”

“No. Just... _our_ colors,” Scorpius politely says. “Green and black, if you have black, sir.”

The keep chuckles and yanks ribbons off of bound rolls in the wall behind the wrapping table. Magicked scissors snip lengths, and the wizard begins the process of wrapping the broom in the shiny silvery paper.

“Um, Father?” Scorpius mumbles, looking concerned suddenly.

“Yes?”

“How will we get it home?”

Draco catches the keep's amused glance. “Floo later. I'm sure he doesn't mind holding our purchase until we've concluded other business in the area, Scorpius.”

Scorpius anxiously views the shop keeper with hope.

The wizard sniffs, nose movement twitching his whiskers. “Don't see why not. Good lad like you shouldn't have to worry about hauling your broom all about.”

Scorpius sighs in relief and thanks the man, and it's after the broom is placed safely behind the sale counter again, with a careful note penned _just_ for Scorpius's unspoken sake, that they finally exit the shop together.

Draco keeps a close eye on his son as the boy wanders slightly away from him at times, lagging behind with his face pressed near other windows to peek for gift ideas for Draco himself. When his son seems to find something curious enough, he asks Draco to give him his bag of divided coins, and Scorpius heads into the shops while Draco stands outside, head to the shop walls each time, smiling to himself as he waits.

Scorpius carries a handful of small bags by the end of two hours, and Draco has his own few full of some texts he knows his son will enjoy as well as a new quill like Astoria's. They chuckle together at children gasping at bats, owls, cats, and more.

“I was thinking,” Draco says as Scorpius rejoins him outside the group of children and animals. “How has your mother's owl handled for you before?"

Scorpius's brows pop up. “Better than Arcanus. Ceres likes being petted more.”

Draco nods. His bird is much more suited to himself, rarely physically affectionate even with Draco, but content to be near him. “Then take her with you when you return. She'd get more from it than from being stuck at home with two grumpy fellows.”

Scorpius laughs, but his excitement is more contagious. “Could I? I'd visit her once a day. Check her feathers.”

“Don't see why not,” Draco replies, happy to help the poor bird and his son. “Currently all she does is nest, fly about, and ruffle his feathers. It would save you using the spell to call Arcanus, too.”

“Then I will!”

He nods agreeably and steers Scorpius to the tailor, and they spend some brief time there to fit Scorpius for more clothes as he's grown slightly since Draco had last sent him a package. The jumpers are ordered along with some trousers and a new set of House robes for collection before the return to term, and they take a break to lunch and visit the sweets shop after, gazing over desserts. Scorpius looks at all the candy treats strewn about, the flying pegasus chocolates and gummy Christmas presents with hard candy bows.

Draco gets a box of his usual chocolate choices, declining for now when the witch expectantly asks him if he wishes a second package of the coconut with rum. Scorpius picks out an edible hippogriff and sets it on the counter, watching mystified as it rears once at Draco before the temporary charm wears off. Draco holds his sneer back until Scorpius looks away, then glares with a scoff at the miniature version of the creature that had swiped at him years ago.

“Bloody chicken,” he mumbles under his breath, the gripe enhanced by the witch's snickers.

“What?”

“Nothing. Is that all you desire here?”

Scorpius runs for some simple candies after, things Draco often saw Crabbe and Goyle eating from the Hogwarts Express's trolleys. The witch totals the purchases and boxes them in one larger box that Draco carries out under his right arm, switching the bags he holds to his left hand.

He grunts with the effort at first, then catches the smile on Scorpius's lips as his son steps from the shop looking _happy_. Merry. Full of holiday joy typical to the boy this time of year. And suddenly the box weighs nothing at all in his grip.

They aim back for the broom shop to collect his big prize, and Scorpius is almost tackled over next to him in the street by a loud Albus excited to find him out and about. Draco's head immediately twists, grey eyes searching to see if the boy is here with his mother or his father. When green eyes lock back on his as Harry emerges across the street with Lily and James, Draco gets his answer.

His heart catches in his throat at the way Harry quickly drinks him in with a quick scan from his head to his toes. Albus and Scorpius chat about the broom inside the shop as the rest approach. James leaves Harry's side to look through the window, murmuring about a different model than the one he'd purchased for Scorpius.

Draco smiles when Harry smiles at him, and Lily grins between the pair of them.

“Dad missed you,” she whispers to him, then runs off to be by James at the window.

Harry sighs, embarrassed. “Lily.”

Draco laughs softly. “She's _your_ daughter. She's an observant little thing.”

“Tell me about it.”

They stand together, both desperate to reach but unable, both with yearning in their eyes thankfully unnoticed by the busy children and pushy crowds blabbering about sales.

“How's it been?” Harry asks first. “You okay, ba—Draco?”

Draco flushes a little, but leans close to whisper, “Fine so far. It's been...Harry, it's been...I don't know how I was home without him. Without you—us—I don't know if I would...be myself for him to come home to now.”

Harry looks relieved and angles closer to him, the pair watching over their children protectively together. “You don't know how happy I am to hear it's going well. That you feel better. As for the rest...if I helped, if _we_ helped, I can't ask for more than that.”

“What about you?” Draco asks. “Is it...worse?”

Harry rubs his stubbled, handsome jaw. Draco wishes it were his fingers doing so.

“Lily's fine. Happy they're home, though I've noticed she's watching over me even more now since she _knows_. Al is more talkative this time. Like you said about Scorpius's note with his worry—once he saw Ginny and I were still excited about holidays and spending time with family at the Burrow, he seemed to calm down more. Opened up to us,” Harry explains quietly. But his eyes aren't settling over Albus or even Lily long before they're back worriedly upon James. “James has gotten moodier. He's still upset about going back and forth, and I can't blame him. I know he'd rather be at Ginny's—home as he's always known it. I know he's angry at me for not being there. He's better with me one-on-one, but I think...I think he still feels I betrayed him somehow.”

Draco locks his jaw. “I'm sorry, Harry. Just...keep being there. Keep giving him time. It's still a loss he's working through differently than the younger two.”

Harry trembles slightly, and Draco curses the crowds. He wishes he had Potter's invisibility cloak if only for a moment, just long enough to toss it over the pair of them for his arms to hold the love of his life and his lips to kiss away that little shake of fear and worry.

“I'd give anything to kiss you right now,” Harry admits, as if thinking his very thoughts, and speaks so silently that Draco almost doesn't hear him say it. “It's always...helped somehow.”

“I know,” Draco confesses, just as softly.

Harry's expression crinkles with his frustration, and Draco bumps their arms together.

“Come,” he murmurs, and they follow the children as all of them head into the shop and browse about.

Scorpius goes to the counter, Albus at his side, both of them discussing possible visits next summer to fly together.

Harry grins and elbows Draco. “Got him one, huh.”

“Yeah,” Draco grins back, eyes on his son. “I miss my Firebolt, now and then, but ah well. I'm glad he'll have this.”

“The boys got theirs after training in school. It was my requirement. Doesn't mean I've not taken them or Lily on rides often, though,” Harry tells him, nostalgic. “I've upgraded over the years. I could always drop it by, if you'd like, since you're without your old broom.”

Draco snickers, the both of them at the other end of the shop glancing at accessories to give the children some space. “What, for a solo ride?”

“Suppose we _have_ shared a broom before,” Harry says, voice seductive as he reaches to look at a tin of wax. “Might be nice to try that again without nearly dying.”

“Might be,” Draco replies, his own voice silky in Potter's ear when he gestures for Harry to grab a multi-care kit to add to Scorpius's purchase. “Won't be as nice as riding _your broom_. So...firm. Thick to grip. Well built for a sturdy, pleasurable ride.”

Harry chews his lip, green eyes hot on him. “ _Damn_ you.”

Draco winks, his laugh warm and carefree enough to attract the children's attention for a few seconds. Lily beams at them knowingly, James looks away just as fast as he'd turned, uninterested, and Albus and Scorpius stare at their fathers standing so closely.

“Not fair,” Harry mutters, crossing his arms.

“Nothing you can do about it,” Draco teases, thoroughly entertained. “Just accept defeat, Potter, but be gracious about it for a change.”

Harry sends him a sexy, amused glare. “Hell no.”

Draco shrugs, feeling quite good with today's events. That is, he does until Harry smirks at him, walks to the front by Albus and Scorpius, and leans against the corner with his hot arse bent for Draco to stare at.

“Bastard,” he hisses, following up the aisle.

If Harry wants to play dirty, then fine.

“Here, Scorpius,” he hears Harry say as the multi-care kit is passed to his son. “Your father wants this added to the purchase.”

“Oh. Thanks, Mr. Potter.”

“Sure.”

“Hi, Mr. Malfoy,” Albus calls to him as Draco comes to a stop right behind Harry. “How are you?”

Draco glances down to Albus's curious young face. “Fine, thank you. Have you enjoyed your break thus far?”

Albus nods readily. “Do...you think I could visit sometime over it? See Scorpius, or him come see me at Mum or Dad's, whichever?”

“You may visit,” Draco says, hesitant on agreeing to anything more.

“He's always welcome at the flat,” Harry immediately pipes up with a smile at Scorpius.

Scorpius nods, but looks away, a little red at the attention. Draco enjoys the moment and thanks Harry quietly by moving to his other side to rest against the counter, knuckles of the fingers holding his box of sweets dragging so _accidentally_ over Harry's bum and hip.

Harry's brow arches at him, and his message is clearly received.

The children crowd a bit as Draco pays for things. He considers what bags he might handle if he passes the box to Scorpius so he can carry the broom, but Harry holds his hand up. “If you'll wait a minute, I can run us back to the flat. We can Floo it through there.”

“That'd be nice, Mr. Potter,” Scorpius says, obviously worried as he views all their items and the big wrapped broom on the counter.

Harry grabs the broom. “Al, would you get this kit bag for Scorpius?”

“Yeah, Dad.”

The three boys dart out ahead of them, Lily trailing, Draco and Harry after her. They collect down the side street near the wand shop and step up the stairs. Scorpius looks about as Albus explains this is where his father lives now.

“Right. You two, I'll be one second. We'll get lunch when Al and I get back from carrying stuff through. Stay _right here_. You leave the flat, and I'll pack one of the Burrow's garden gnomes in your stocking.”

“Dad!” Lily laughs, hands behind her back. “You can't catch them! Auntie Luna says gnomes have rights, just like Aunt 'Mione says, too.”

Harry kisses her head. “Yeah, well, Uncle _Ron_ disagrees. _Vehemently_.”

“Yeah, Dad'll catch one and it'll pop out, Lily, and give you a _kiss_. You can name it Edmund.”

“My friend's name is _Edgar_ , James. And I'm _not_ kissing a _gnome_.”

“Edgar, whatever.” James grunts, arm about Lily's shoulder as he chants, “Lily fancies _Edgar_ , Lily fancies _Edgar_.”

“James,” Harry sighs, still holding the broom as he moves to break up the immediate little fight between his red-faced youngest and his cackling eldest. “Lily, no punching.”

“He _started_ it. He _knows_ I don't fancy Edgar.”

“Are you _sure_?” James laughs, but holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, sheesh. I promise if a garden gnome pops out of the stocking, I'll punch it. Gotta protect my baby sister.”

“I can protect _myself_ ,” Lily almost growls at him, the momentary scowl eerily reminiscent of Ginny Weasley before she starts to laugh again. “I could protect _you_ , too. Maybe a girl gnome in _your_ stocking will look like Eloise, that exchange student to Hogwarts you told Mum _all_ about. Maybe she'll kiss _you_. Mwah!”

“Shut up! I _don't_ fancy her.”

“Do, too! You told Mum! 'Mum, she's _so nice_ , even for a Hufflepuff.'”

“Stop spying on me!”

Draco, Albus, and Scorpius all stand waiting, trying not to laugh. Harry shakes his head. “Do you see what I deal with?”

“Potter, my response isn't polite for present company, so I'll simply say you reap what you sow in your wild days,” Draco drawls with two boys snickering beside him. “Serves you right being a thorn in _my_ side now to have some in yours.”

“ _Me?_ A thorn in _yours_?”

“Certainly.”

Harry grumbles at him and grabs for the Floo powder.

“When Dad does that, it means we're in trouble,” Albus says wisely behind Draco to Scorpius.

Draco grins wickedly and whispers to Harry after he calls out Draco's home for the Floo, “Do hope I'm in trouble, then.”

“ _Big_ trouble,” Harry retorts, then says much louder, “Okay, Al, you and Scorpius can go on through.”

Scorpius goes first, Albus after him, then Draco, and finally Harry, all bunched in the living room together. Scorpius runs up to his room to stash things he's purchased, Albus on his heels with the broom care kit. Draco goes for his study and sets his box of sweets on the desk, the bags on his arms falling into his chair as he sighs in relief. He stretches while Harry props the wrapped broom against the smaller sofa in the room.

Footsteps congregate loudly upstairs, voices muted through the floor above their heads.

Harry searches about, smiling at the decoration changes he can see through the doorway. “It's nice here, babe. You two have been busy.”

“He's been happy. It's all I can ask for, Harry,” Draco replies and slumps against the wall next to the doorway. “The tree took most effort.”

“It's gorgeous.”

“Thank you. He worked hard on most of it. I helped him where I felt necessary. He's getting...better...and taking initiatives and giving himself chances.”

“Good to hear,” Harry says.

Draco closes his eyes, resting there against the wall, and he hears the door shut partially, hiding them from immediate view. Grey eyes slowly lift open, tired and wanting, to find bright green ones _blazing_ at him.

Harry grabs his chin. “Teasing me. Touching me. A thorn in _your_ side. You're in _so_ much trouble, babe.”

Draco smirks in grand Malfoy fashion. “Punish me, Potter.”

He blinks, and Harry is over him, pressing him into the wall with a hot open-mouthed kiss. He breathes, and Potter's tongue licks his lower lip before slipping between his teeth. Draco moans and clenches his arms about Harry's neck and yanks his partner closer, kissing him in turn with ample desire.

After a few days of hope and worry, it's soothing.

After a few nights of wishing he weren't alone in bed, it's filling.

Harry sighs, broad palms over Draco's hip and bum, the fingers there squeezing him with possession that sends his nerves dancing through his lower half.

They stare at one another, listening together to the continued words upstairs, knowing damn well both boys will _wait_ for Harry to call Albus back downstairs first before running down them again. And it hits them hard, the emotions and the quiet fear of both of those boys possibly looking at them differently a couple weeks from now. Maybe even looking differently at _each other_ , afraid of what loyalty comes first in life—family or friendship.

Draco pulls Harry closer, pointy nose in Harry's wild hair, breathing his partner in as much as he can, as fast as he can, to imprint it for the next while. Harry shudders against him not with sexual need, but with emotions deep and needing more assurance.

“It'll be all right,” Harry says, despite his shaking.

“Yes, it will,” Draco repeats to help Harry calm.

Harry kisses him quickly. “I _am_ hoping to spend some of the kids' break together. Us and them like today. I'll check in with you by owl or Floo, okay?”

“Sure, Harry.”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“I need to go,” Harry tells him.

They kiss one last time, firm and pressing, and begin to untangle themselves. Harry exhales, shakes his head to clear his mind, and walks from the study with Draco following. “Al? Let's go!”

“Coming!”

They position themselves near the Floo, and Draco rests over the sofa, eyes glittering at Harry with protective love. The boys rush down the stairs, talking to themselves, and both fathers watch and wait for them to stop. Scorpius goes quiet first, cheeks red at Draco's stare. Albus flushes under Harry's smile.

“Let's go grab your brother and sister,” Harry says with a nudge of his head to the Floo. “I'm starving.”

“Okay, Dad. See you, Scorpius.”

“Bye, Albus.”

“Thank you for your aid, both of you,” Draco tells them, comfortable on the sofa.

“Father, can I get my candy hippogriff out?”

Draco doesn't cover this sneer in time, and Harry bursts out laughing. Draco debates throwing a cushion at the arsehole, but settles for a glare that has Harry ushering a confused son out through the Floo.

“Ask your father about _his_ experience with a _real_ hippogriff,” Harry calls, and _whooshes_ magically out of the house before Draco can throw out some snark in response.

Scorpius waits patiently, the question in his gaze.

Draco's head hits the back of the sofa as he sighs. “It all started with a bloody chicken of a creature named _Buckbeak_ , one with more brawn than _brain_....”

 

 

  
  
  
  


 


	48. c r y s t a l

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

 

48.

 

c r y s t a l

 

A few days before Christmas, Draco sips tea in the living room with Pansy, discussing new items in the naughty shop where she just made Christmas purchases for he and Harry, much to his chagrin. She pauses in bragging about the leather straps when they hear the small sounds from upstairs as Astoria's owl hoots to Scorpius adorably.

“Aw,” Pansy grins from her perch on the sofa's arm. “He's so precious, Draco.”

Draco chuckles. “He has Astoria's touch.”

“Liar. I remember you stroking that stupid book Hagrid made us all get the one year. Mine kept _biting me_ , but it let _you_ pet it every time with that dumb smirk on your cute mouth.”

He snorts and finishes his tea. “It was a stupid book. You're reading into what you wish.”

“The fuck I am. That should have been my first sign about _you_ , shouldn't it.” Pansy's dark eyes sparkle with the afternoon window light. She leans close, whispering, “If you stroke _him_ half as sensually as you did my bloody book, I might need a moment. You were _torture_ on a teenage girl, you prat.”

Flushed entirely red, Draco bounces a decorative pillow off of her head. “And _you_ were annoying.”

Pansy grows serious and glances away.

Draco tosses another pillow at her, smirking until she smiles again.

She speaks, voice bubbly with amusement. “You know, I see Potter smile with that goofy romantic expression in the Ministry halls. I bet he's all lost in his head thinking of your—”

“Father?” Scorpius calls loudly from the banister upstairs, making Pansy _mercifully_ shut up.

Draco glares at her as he answers his son, his blush on high. “Yes?”

“I wanted to know if I could use Mother's wax seal? Take it to school, I mean. I was using my House one before.”

Draco pushes to his feet. “I'll be there in a second.”

Footsteps run back into Scorpius's room, and Pansy exhales with relief, eyes still quite wide. “Whew,” she says. “That was close.”

“If he heard _anything_ out of your mouth, consider your chances of becoming a godmother _zero_ ,” Draco growls at her and pushes past her to the stairs. “Merlin, Pansy.”

“Sorry! Sorry. I'm still aiming to get the title before he's out of school, but you make it so _difficult_. I need to run anyway, though, so I'll leave you be for now. Gonna be late for a date.”

“That you'll blow off tomorrow when the poor bastard comes sniffing for more?”

“Precisely. They never listen. That or I'm just that _memorable_.”

Draco looks her over once from her hair to her pointy shoes. “Hm.”

Pansy gasps, slaps him on the arm, and strides to the Floo. “ _Arsehole_. I'm hot, and even _you_ know it.”

“You're quite lovely. Don't keep him waiting,” Draco agrees, startling the hell out of her. She spins, grinning at him, and he waves her off, listening as the Floo whisks his friend from the house. Quietly he steps up the stairs and goes past Astoria's and Scorpius's bedrooms to the other small room where her desk still resides. He shuffles through some items in the drawers until he finds the personal wax seal; it carries her initials and flower motif in the gold plate with a rosewood handle.

“Wow,” Scorpius says at the doorway, staring about. “I haven't been in here in a long time.”

“Neither have I outside of dusting,” Draco admits, turning with the seal to hand it to his son.

Scorpius scampers off after one last look about the rooms, and Draco follows, shutting the doors and heading back down. He takes the empty cups to the kitchen sink, mind stuck replaying her description of Harry walking the Ministry halls. It feels easier to breathe, somehow, just imagining it.

Strange what a few months can do, he thinks. Even stranger what acceptance can lead to.

An hour later with the December sun already dropping away, he's double checking figures as usual about this time of the month at his desk, eyes roaming accounting ledgers and quill scribbling. Scorpius knocks, and Draco sits back, hand beckoning the boy inside the study.

“Dinner time already?” Draco asks with a slight yawn as he glances to the grandfather clock in the living room from his spot. Five in the evening. Not bad progress for an hour's worth of business.

“Mm,” Scorpius agrees. He glances over the books and parchments upon the desk. “What's this?”

“That, Scorpius, is for you.”

“Me?”

“Yes,” Draco nods, lifting the smallest ledger. “A record of deposits for your account in Gringotts. I _refuse_ to let you have any burden but personal choice as to what direction you wish your life to go someday. You shan't worry for the funds, not if you're careful. You're smart enough to keep yourself positioned well, I'm certain.”

Scorpius touches the book with a fingertip, mouth open in surprise. “I can do whatever I want? Is there...lots in it?”

“Quite a fair amount, yes, and it is yours for education, for a home, for whatever. Your ambition is where you can take it. But you _will_ graduate Hogwarts with or without a N.E.W.T. to receive access at eighteen. An O.W.L. is fine. Your accomplishment either way proves to me you're prepared for the responsibility. And this...it gives you more a chance than I had,” Draco grumbles and rests the green ledger back to the desk. “Bloody War. It ruined everything.”

“The bad times.”

“Yes, Scorpius.”

A pale youthful hand reaches for his left one. Draco watches his son turn his arm over, and Scorpius's gaze rests over his sleeve exactly atop the regretted ink. He says nothing, does nothing, can only watch his curious, brave boy grow bolder than he has in years by unbuttoning the material at his wrist and shoving it up gently, slowly, to bare his skin.

Draco doesn't breathe. He cannot.

“If it was so long ago, and you helped, why do you hide it?” his son asks, like the voice of the most magical of omniscient creatures testing his truth. “The Dark Mark...does it...hurt?”

“No.” Somehow he finds the words, the breath, the blood to beat through his heart to say, “It shames me.”

Carefully, Scorpius raises his gaze.

Grey to grey, they come together, and for the time it takes him to inhale again, Draco at first sees himself standing there: his past holding his wrist, his past asking him to make it stop, to _save himself_. His scared face stares into him from the other side of that fucking bathroom mirror, haunting him until he trembles; it fades rapidly, thankfully, away into his son's frightened and concerned eyes.

Lids close. Lashes become wet like grass in morning dew.

He can't know his beauty, how broken yet hopeful he appears, but his son knows.

“Tell me,” Scorpius whispers softly. “It's okay, Father. I won't judge you, ever, I promise.”

Laggardly, he lifts his eyelids and tries his best to ignore the wet trails down his face. He reaches, pulling his twelve-year-old son halfway onto his lap. Draco holds him close, breathing him as if to cement in the familiarity of the heart beating near his; for it beats with blood he has given, _life_ he had granted by his own choice, and it is eternally tied to his own.

“Tell you,” Draco whispers in turn, voice like a gentle echo.

“Yes,” Scorpius urges. “Your letter. You said you're happy, that you want to tell me something.”

“I do...I just....”

Draco's voice fades away, and he knows the time has come. He cannot warn Harry, cannot give his partner time any longer. He can only hope Harry will understand breaking this now, earlier than he'd planned.

He bends his nose, bumps it to his son's, and they stare deeply into one another. “So much...I don't know where to start.”

“The beginning, then?”

“That is far long ago.”

“I'll listen.”

“Your stomach will rumble.”

Scorpius snickers. “Then it might talk, but _I_ will still listen until we eat.”

Draco smirks slightly, but lifts his face and presses his lips to his son's hair. Everything in him—everything sanguine and anxious, apprehensive and loathing—pushes through to his child's brow the way his heart once had to Harry's lips years before.

He sighs. Forces himself to relax back into his chair. Looks down at his son looking up at him. And he begins, voice trying to stay calm and even as he says, “History remembers, as they say, so you should have some history _I_ remember, yes?”

“Yes, Father.”

“The...beginning. Hm. To understand _my_ mistakes, you must understand my father,” Draco says, already feeling exhausted. “Your grandfather has always been a proud man. Proud of his blood, his family, his way of life. He imparted this pride to me, and it took me years—your very birth—to see what had corrupted it, Scorpius. For pride alone is not a nefarious thing, and don't _ever_ let someone tell you that you cannot have any. This was _hubris_ , and for him it had become but a vehicle for power, his _raison d'être_. It led to his fall from grace, and because of its poisonous nature bleeding into your grandmother and I, we fell, too, for a time. I made many mistakes, Scorpius, in my arrogance and fear. I hurt others, endangered them, and ran away like a coward when I should have stood my damn ground.

“You see...all my childhood I thought I deserved everything simply for my name. Purebloods were wealthy, old, and noble, and the _Malfoy_ line was even more significant in my view. I had the best quality robes, the best societal acquaintances to manipulate, the best quidditch gear, the best _anything_. I was quite a brat now and then, obsessed with myself and having very few true friends to care about me because of it. I trusted _no_ one, because I expected them to use me all the same. That nonsense would have been simple childish insecurity to temper with maturation had it not had something else writhing inside of it.”

“Grandfather's pride,” Scorpius comments, catching on quickly.

“Exactly. I know he'd hoped to protect us with whatever he'd acquire, but he was foolish and selfish enough to put the family in harm's way...arrogant enough to think he'd take power from the Dark Lord,” Draco scowls, arms tighter about his son. “It nearly killed us all. And once I saw how hollow of a man my father was without that pride, how _nothing_ he'd become when he'd reached for me as if I'd console _him_ , I was disgusted. I learned in that mess to have pride _and_ cherish my family without the need to rule the world with my ego, Scorpius, but he couldn't. So I walked away, I took you away, because I _refused_ to see that poison enter your veins, too, once he began to teach you the same lessons near your first birthday. I wanted you to be proud of your identity without the toxin that had nearly destroyed me, and your grandmother understood. She helped us pack. Kept us safe at the cost of being unable to speak with us again.”

“Because Grandfather could if she did?”

“Yes. She knew I was far too angry and unforgiving, and he was far too unable to change. Thus she kept him tempered away, a barrier between our egos and angers. It is another of my regrets, but it was her choice I had to respect as she did mine.”

Scorpius nods; whether he understands truly or not, Draco isn't sure. “What's she like? I don't remember her much. Just...long hair. Light and dark.”

Draco smiles, though it hurts. “Yes. She's elegant. Graceful. Beautiful and strong. _Brave_ , Scorpius. She tried to protect me with the War since Father's cowardice and lust for power got us so involved. She stood against the Dark Lord himself when Father couldn't.”

“You miss her,” Scorpius surmises, watching him closely.

“Yes,” Draco swallows. “But all of that isn't...that is simply the beginning you asked for, Scorpius. The truth you want...the truth I....”

“Father?”

Draco draws upon the depth inside of him that has built since that first kiss, suffering in pools of grey until her death had choked him with sunlight and Harry's brilliant prism had shattered through the dark with a spectrum of color. He sees the abyss in Harry's green eyes in his mind, but he feels no fright. He is calm. He is ready. And he states, “The truth is that I've hidden something all my life, and I can't any longer from you. _I won't._ I know damn well I've kept my secret for my own fear and concern, and for that, I am _sorry_. I wished to spare you my self-loathing more than anything, Scorpius. I wished to never give you reason to feel shame.”

Scorpius waits quietly. Holds the marked wrist to his chest, fingers folding over Draco's comforting him.

Draco's right hand brushes pale hair from his son's eyes. He takes a breath and sighs. “When I was your age, even a little younger, I made a discovery of myself.”

Scorpius blinks. “What was it? You're not a squib, 'cause you use magic. Is it like that?”

He snickers, adoring the helpfulness there in his child's expression. “Nothing as such, no. I met...a boy. A handsome boy. A marvelous, brave, _irritating_ boy that everyone loved. I was in awe of him, Scorpius. I'd only ever dreamed what he might be like for all his importance. And he _didn't_ like me. Rejected my offer of friendship immediately.”

“But why, Father? For your House?”

“For what I told you before, Scorpius. The poison—the attitudes it festered—he wanted none of it. Was better than that, didn't need false validation like I did from your grandfather's teachings. He was secure, even knowing little of himself.” Draco thinks back, his face souring. “The boy grew to hate me, just as I grew to hate him in my jealousy and rejection. And I think...because of _me_ and others like me, he did grow to hate our House. He so rarely saw the good in us, barely understood that _evil_ isn't a trait we share but an illness to which we are susceptible.”

“That's sad,” Scorpius murmurs. “You just wanted to be his friend.”

“I did,” Draco nods, “and had I approached him differently from my own entitlement, I think he would have shaken my hand that day. It was the first of many regrets that I couldn't admit until much later.”

Scorpius waits for him to gather himself, and Draco shakes. His chin quivers, his jaw aches, his eyes burn with unshed moisture. And his son, his brilliant boy, asks, “Did he know you cared so much?”

Draco turns his head, unnerved by that directness, though he is proud of it. “No. Not for years.”

“And when he did? What then?”

“Then he questioned everything—all the pain we'd given each other and why we hadn't been more helpful before. Why we couldn't be _friendly_.”

“Did he become your friend after?”

“Not for a long time.”

“Why not even then?”

Draco shudders, crown of his head to the chair, posture painfully proper. He doesn't blink at his son. He pushes past the choking feeling in his throat.

Scorpius's face lights up, stopping him from spilling over. “Wait! Is...he your new friend? Is he the one you saw while I was gone?”

He exhales, lips parted. Grateful, he replies, “Yes.”

“But that's great!” his son exclaims, extremely happy for him. “Father!”

The smile crosses his lips, but it fades quickly. “It is, yes. Thank you.”

“So...you got to be friends finally. But why would that be a secret? Why would wanting to be his friend _be_ a secret?”

“Because, son, as I got older...when I went through...puberty and the like, I understood more. I didn't.... I just.... I....”

Scorpius squeezes his hand. “You...? It's okay, Father.”

Draco almost can't face his son and speak his truth. Part of him wishes to rush the words out while staring at the window. But he won't. He won't. He sighs instead and shakily loosens his hold on Scorpius, should the worst come to pass and the boy leap away in discomfort.

“I cared for him,” Draco says, heart pounding in his ears. Heat rushes through his chest, and something like freedom fills his thirsting veins.

Scorpius stares. Still waiting, it seems.

And so Draco adds with his serious eyes, “I _cared_ for him, Scorpius. Do you understand?”

His son thinks about it, and a new hesitance finally begins to enter Scorpius's expression.

Draco is suddenly invigorated, and he doesn't look away. He continues to stare unblinkingly back. He has prepared for years for this very moment, considered all the judgments he might be sentenced. This is now his turn to wait, and wait he does, for two long minutes of burning agony with his wet eyes and flushed cheeks as his heart rests on the edge of its last hope.

Scorpius swallows adorably, and he _does not_ shift away. Instead he leans closer and twists his mouth to speak. “You...cared...for him, like...like....”

Draco breathes heavily, biting his lip. He nods once, standing on a ledge, wondering if Scorpius will push him off the way he shoved Lucius before.

Scorpius's mouth falls open. He sucks in air. “Did he...know?”

“Not until the end of the War,” Draco answers the little question with its big, vast meaning. “And by then, Scorpius, it was too late to matter. He had his life. I had to live mine.”

His son's face does something strange, scrunching up momentarily.

Draco's pulse rockets upward.

“Too late to matter...more than... _a decade_ late to matter,” Scorpius says, repeating his words from months ago, remembering them right there in front of Draco's shocked self. Scorpius's eyes become quite round. “Him? _Him_ , Father? Mr. _Potter_?”

Draco wavers, one foot off the metaphorical ledge. Stunned, he swallows. “Yes, Scorpius. That boy was...Harry. Mr. Potter, as you know him.”

His poor child stares at him in shock with his jaw open, eyes drying, little breaths coming quick.

“I loved him,” Draco confesses, unsure how or why the words seem to tumble out now despite his jitters. “I loved him so much. I still _do_.”

“You love him. Does...he?” Scorpius pauses, quite worried. “Does he love you, too?”

One tiny hiccough of a cry makes it past his control. But he smiles, too. “Yes, Scorpius. He loves me very much.”

“What...does this mean, Father?” Scorpius finally inquires, his voice so small.

Draco tilts his face, searching his son for abhorrence of him. He finds only unease of change, or so he presumes. “It means, Scorpius, that Mr. Potter and I are friends now, yes...but we are _more_. It means that for the first time in my life, I am myself without restriction. I've fancied men, fancied _Him_ , and now he and I are...together in a relationship. Partners who love each other.”

“But Albus!” Scorpius panics for a second, but he doesn't crawl out of Draco's arms. “His parents, they aren't married anymore! Is it...because of...?”

Draco winces then despite his lessening tremors. “They had many personal reasons that are _not_ our business, Scorpius. But Harry's love for me that he grew to have _is_ one of his, yes.”

Though Scorpius curls in upon himself, timid and unsure, trapped in the crossed swords of loyalty the way Draco feared he might be, the boy _doesn't_ follow in his steps. He clings to Draco rather than shoving him away. And as his mental feet find stability away from the ledge, Draco tucks the boy closer in loving grace, rocking slightly in the chair. Fingers dig into his shirt, his collar, his wrist with the Dark Mark so close to it.

“But you love him,” Scorpius whimpers below his chin. “You're _happy_. Albus is my _best friend_ , but you're my _father_ , and you're happy.”

“Yes,” Draco says, heart breaking. “I never wanted.... I.... You shouldn't feel you must choose between us, for you do _not_ have to do so. There is no fault, no reason to suffer outside of adapting to change itself, and the pair of you could bond more from this if you don't let it drive you apart. Even so...I'm sorry, Scorpius. I never wanted to hurt you this way.”

Scorpius tears up, the soft sounds cutting through him one by one as his child clutches to him, buries his nose in Draco's neck, and shifts to hold around him there.

“It'll be okay,” Draco offers what he envisions to be true. “I won't have you suffer or worry, I swear it, Scorpius, because you...you are more important to me than anything else. Your happiness _matters_.”

“Even as important as...him?”

So timidly spoken. So heartbreakingly received.

“Even more than _Him_. Just as his children will always come first for Harry, you are _my son_. You are my _life_. Power may have been _my_ father's want and will, but you, Scorpius, are mine. Your opinion carries weight,” Draco admits, kissing the side of Scorpius's head. “I don't want you to hate me or think me selfish for finding love with Harry, but I will understand your anger.”

“No! I'm not angry! I don't hate you,” Scorpius cries, the dam of emotion breaking his remarkable strength he's kept. “Never, Father, I couldn't....”

Scorpius hides his face away, the tears hot and wet against Draco's throat. Draco silently cries with him, rocking a little more in the stiff chair with his weight and kissing soft hair. Scorpius snuggles into him, needing the closeness desperately; his legs hang over the side with his knees bunched up at his best attempt to curl into a ball there on Draco's lap.

They sit that way for another ten minutes in the quiet of the house, and Draco keeps his eyes closed above Scorpius not in shame or regret, but with suspicion that if he _opens them_ she will be there. She feels so close, so very close, as if she's by the doorway observing them with their own little strings running up to her hands and back.

Scorpius sniffs a few times as he tries to steady himself.

Draco's large hand runs up and down his son's jumper, patting softly.

“What about Mother? Did you tell her you cared?” his child quietly interrogates him. “Mother wouldn't be angry. I know she wouldn't.”

“She wasn't.” Draco allays him with a softer brush of a nose to Scorpius's brow. He risks opening his eyes, and he exhales in bittersweet relief when her image isn't gracing the doorway. “Your mother kept my secret all this time, Scorpius. She married me when she knew I couldn't love her the same way she loved me at first, and she became my _closest_ friend. My _best_ friend. And after all the loneliness of my life, Astoria refused me to endure any more—or any conditional love again. Thus, we agreed to conceive...so that if something happened to her, I'd have you.”

“How could you have me, though? You said you...fancy, um, blokes.”

“You were _worth_ the struggle, the work arounds, and solutions. You were _wanted_ beyond my discomfort in making you,” Draco says, stopping the bit of self-doubt daring to creep into Scorpius's voice. “I can recall the moment you were born as if it were yesterday.”

Scorpius drops one arm from his neck and wipes his face by Draco's shoulder. “You can?”

“Mm,” Draco sighs with a smile. “Mother and the Healer witch were cleaning you up, and Mother brought you to me. 'Hold your son,' she'd said. And she smiled. She so rarely smiled for too long.”

“Were you...happy I was born?” Scorpius questions nervously.

Draco grins, feeling the fingers toying with his vest. “I was _thrilled_. Enchanted. Your birth gave me something to fight for, to protect, to _cherish_. But even thrilled as I was, I was also frightened.”

“'Cause I was so little?”

“So little and already so strong. A minute old into the world, and you held more power over me than anyone else ever has.”

Scorpius rests his cheek to Draco's collarbone. “I did?”

“You absolutely did.”

“How?”

“When she offered you to me, wrapped in your little blanket, I was scared to take you because I had never feared someone's opinion so much,” Draco states, bared to his very bones under his son. He nuzzles the back of Scorpius's head. “I dreaded that you'd scream the second I touched you. I panicked thinking even _you_ , my newborn, would only see mistakes somehow and never trust me.”

Scorpius hugs him tighter, and the cracks in his crystal of a heart begin to line with something like gold, something new and beautiful healing it together. “Did I scream? I'm sorry if I did.”

Draco chuckles, but the laugh falls away into soothing words. “You didn't. I took you into my arms. You opened your eyes. And you smiled at me.”

Scorpius shifts on his lap, sits back enough to look at him. “What did...how did...you...feel, then?” the shy question comes.

“I fell in love,” he murmurs honestly, palm cupping his son's cheek. “I felt _love_ , true love, the love of a father I'd only _dreamed_ could fill me up inside, all the cracks and hollow spaces the past had carved into me. And I vowed right then to never let anything hurt you if I could stop it.”

Scorpius smiles at him, so beautiful and bright, so astonishingly pure, and his heart fills again until it overflows and they smile together, connected in a way they've never been before.

“Could you ever forgive me?” Draco wonders aloud.

“For what?”

“For keeping my secret from you. For keeping you at a distance as a result of it. For...being overprotective at times, and...for...what is to come until we all adjust together.”

Scorpius exhales. “Yeah. I just...I don't want you to feel far away anymore. If...you love Mr. Potter, and you're with him, will you go away?”

“I won't. My bond with you will _always_ come first.”

“Promise?”  
  
“Promise,” Draco vows, tugging Scorpius close for another peck to his brow. “I love Harry in a way I cannot explain. Perhaps someday you will understand, should you find yourself so caught up in fate or in another person, but even loving him _this much_ , I won't go anywhere. And Scorpius, he wouldn't _want me to_. He _adores_ you. We want us all to come together, not break apart. Even your mother, before her death, wanted that and urged him to write me.”

“She _did_?”

“Yes. She'd known about the divorce because she'd befriended him, and she knew he loved me.” Draco laughs, still awed. “Mad, isn't it.”

“A little.” Scorpius plays with Draco's vest's collar as he thinks. And then he smiles again, radiant. “Um.”

Draco lifts his lip in a half smile. “What?”

Scorpius looks about, a little embarrassed. “Just wondered something.”

“Ask away.”

“Was your secret why you never kissed Mother much? Slept in your own room?”

“Yes.”

“But with...Mr. Potter, you're different.”

“Very.”

Scorpius clears his throat. “Do you kiss him?”

Draco blushes. “Yes. And hold his hand. And sometimes while you were gone, I slept by his side.”

“Oh,” Scorpius mumbles, awkward and cute. “Does this...make...does it mean Albus...will sort of be...like my brother?”

“We're in a serious partnership. I suppose it could be so, if that's how the two of you want to feel someday.”

“I never had a brother. It might be nice.”

Draco coughs. “Yes, well, _sorry_ , but trying for _you_ was awkward enough for me.”

Scorpius laughs, and any bit of tension left in Draco recedes away at that cheerful sound. Scorpius's stomach rumbles, and he looks down at it, then back up to Draco. “See? Told you I could wait.”

“And you've waited long enough,” Draco winks. “Come, let's eat.”

His son climbs from his lap and rushes for the kitchen, calling happily for him to follow.

And Draco takes but the fewest of seconds outside his study to stare at their tree all lit and twinkling, smiling with the greatest anticipation and the deepest relief.

 

  
  


 


	49. m a g n o l i a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

49.

 

m a g n o l i a

 

 

He waits after sending his bird in the dark winter dawn, two words of ink gracing the parchment in Arcanus's talons.

He waits, blowing air through clenched, worried teeth, hoping as he shuts the study window and moves about the kitchen in his robe that perhaps Harry won't wake _too_ badly and panic.

He waits knowing Harry will do _precisely_ that.

And when the Floo rushes near six-thirty in the morning, Draco waits no more.

“Shit,” Draco curses quietly.

Harry stands in a red robe with a white v-neck shirt that is _sinfully_ sexy on him, silky black boxers, and black socks without slippers. His hair is entirely tousled and gorgeous, his wide, terrified eyes the most awake thing about him behind his glasses as he takes a stumbling step with fingers worrying the cuffs of his robe.

Draco stands steady, calmly, but all his partner does is tremble just enough.

His nerves eat at him until he can't take it. “Are they with you?”

Harry doesn't speak. Just shakes his head negatively.

Draco sighs in relief. Fingers reach to take the anxious ones before Potter completely ruins the fabric with diverted thoughtlessness. “No need to tear your robe, Potter.”

“He knows,” Harry speaks his written words, then exhales to calm himself. Green eyes finally lift look to him, wary but hopeful. “How...did it go?”

“Well, I think.” Draco smiles, almost as shaky in his still continuing relief. “We had a great dinner after.”

Harry exhales again, head falling back. “Thank _fuck_.”

Draco nods, and his free fingers toy with a longer lock of dark hair. “It wasn't intentional at first, Harry. He came in while I was working the ledgers for my accounts. Asked some questions...and asked some more. I felt ready.”

“It's okay,” Harry tells him. A warm hand glides up to his jaw. “You knew in your gut what to do. I'm _proud_ of you for taking that step.”

Draco nods, lip lifting in a small smile.

“Was he angry at me?” Harry asks, sounding as nervous and scared as Scorpius had during part of their talk. “Is he...bothered by me?”

Draco's eyes soften at the similarity. “Not angry, no. In shock. Worried. Afraid of hurting Albus, as I imagined he would be. He wants to support my happiness and support his friend in the circumstances, and I told him the two aren't mutually exclusive.”

“Good to tell him,” his love commends him. “But...overall, how was he?”  
  
“Happy that I'm happy. Glad I have someone to love. Relieved, I think, that someone loves me so much—someone his mother approved of loving me, too. A little shy.”

Harry smiles, looking far lighter than when he'd stepped out of the Floo. “Wonderful, Draco. That's great!”

Draco snickers, then yawns, trying to blink away the tiredness he still feels. “Sorry for writing you so early. I wanted to tell you, to...reassure you with the boys.”

“Don't be sorry. It was right to do.”

“Fine.”

“I'll, um...I'll talk to them. I need to sooner now.”

“Harry, take what time you can. I know it's moved up from the end of break, but you don't have to Floo to Ginny's right this second. I've asked Scorpius not to write Albus until you've spoken with him. It's only fair his friend hear it from you the way he did from me, and though he's terribly worried, he understands. Hopes Albus will forgive him. I said to blame me if there's a problem.”

“Al would understand. He'd struggle the same way if he'd found out first.”

Draco brings their held hands up to his mouth and kisses Harry's knuckles. “How will you tell them?”

Harry's shoulders slump, his back lit by the tree's soft colors. “Honestly? I dunno. I've tried to think of a dozen ways to do so. They're all bloody awful.”

“You're you, though. The right thing, the way forward, will present itself to you, Harry,” Draco says, assuring Potter this time. “I'm certain of it, given your luck.”

Harry chuckles quietly, eyes on him. “Think so?”

“Yes,” Draco states plainly. The hand brushing hair from Harry's brow slips to stroke his thumb across Potter's cheek. “Harry, I didn't think I could have the _words_. But they came on their own. When yours do, you'll know. You'll be ready. Make peace with that and relax if you can.”

“That helps to hear. Seriously.”

“Something else might...a thought I had when I tried to sleep last night.”

“S'that, babe?”

Draco turns, tugs, and the both of them collapse gently to the sofa. One arm goes about Harry's back, and his nose ruffles cloth and hair until his lips find bared skin over the lightly tanned throat. “What seems momentous for _us_ is strange to even question for them. The rules are changing.”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers next to him, brows up, eyes closing. “They're growing up with a bit more acceptance, I hope. It's at least what Ginny and I tried to instill in our kids.”

Draco snickers, teasing, “What, that good people can come in all shapes, sizes, and Hogwarts Houses? How _kind_ of the pair of you to know _now_.”

Harry elbows him, smirk visible. “Arse.”

“Need to be now and then, lest you forget just whom you're in love with, Harry.”

“Uh huh.” Slowly Harry glances to him, the laugh caught there so easily visible.

Something changes in Harry's face, though, something solidifies more with certainty, and Harry looks once near the staircase before adjusting on the sofa to kiss him. Draco smiles against the kiss, his back pressing into the cushions. Harry's lips dance down his throat, his jaw, and up to his his mouth again. Draco presses light kisses to Harry's brow while his hands pull Potter closer, arms encircling his lover's neck.

Their mouths meet happily, deeply, the kiss lasting and parting with soft sound.

A noise hesitates nearby, brushing the moment just enough, and both look over as Scorpius makes his way down the last steps, moving awkwardly and silently as possible in his slippers. His son's fingers wipe at his tired, but wide and shocked eyes from seeing that kiss, and his short pale hair sticks several directions from tossing in sleep.

Carefully they adjust with Draco's arm once again around Harry's back, hand upon Harry's shoulder. Harry rests a palm over his left thigh. Draco gestures for his son to enter the room freely, hoping the smile on his face is comforting enough.

Harry sits waiting and viewing Scorpius with the longing look of shy happiness that Draco has come to associate with Potter. “Hi, Scorpius,” Harry says with a gentle smile. “Bit early to say, but good morning.”

“Good morning,” Scorpius parrots back, shifting in place as he wakes more. He glances to Draco. “Father?”

“Would you like something to drink? Or did you need the loo?”

“The loo.”

“Go on. We'll wait,” Draco says, gesturing in the bathroom's direction.

They both hold their breath until the other door opens and closes, and Harry's fingers grip at his leg. Quickly Harry side-whispers, “How is it I'm more terrified of your son than I was of Voldemort?”

Draco snorts, shakes his head, and kisses Harry's cheek. “You've nothing to worry over.”

“I know, but...I just...I want him to like me. I know Al likes _you_. Lily adores you. I hope James will get on with you someday, and Scorpius...he's so important in your life. I want his approval.”

“I know, Harry,” Draco murmurs, flushed.

The sink runs, the door opens, and Scorpius comes out, watching them curiously as they do him. Scorpius climbs into a chair across from them over the rug, and the little silent countdown to fill the atmosphere begins.

 _Three_ , Draco almost hears in his head as Harry gets twitchy next to him.

 _Two_ , he feels in his gut with his own foot tapping the floor softly.

Scorpius folds his hands together, staring at him nervously, and Harry's mouth opens as if in reflex the Gryffindor has never lost.

 _One_.

“So...sleep well?” Harry asks kindly. “My kids are rarely up this early.”

“I am sometimes. I...wake up lots, and it gets harder to fall back asleep,” Scorpius admits, crushing the walls of Draco's heart.

His partner frowns, concerned. “I'm sorry to hear that, Scorpius. Anything you know to do to help you?”

Scorpius doesn't answer. He just looks to Draco, as if unsure he is allowed to disclose his routine. So Draco licks his lip and crosses one knee over the other, toes of his slipper bouncing to Harry's shin. “He knows he can come to me if the dreams are bad enough.”

His son relaxes. Harry smiles at the pair of them. It's quiet for a solid twenty seconds before Harry tries again. “You excited to unwrap your broom soon?”

Scorpius brightens some, cheeks flushing. But his response is still very polite, mannered, and succinct as he's trained to be with guests. “Very, Mr. Potter.”

“Wonderful. You'll love it.”

“Thank you.”

“Your dad's a real talent on a broom,” Harry admits, and Draco scoffs pleasurably, squeezing his love's shoulder. “Didn't get to see him fly too often, but I remember what I had. We played against each other some in school.”

“You mean I played, and you won from _unnatural_ luck. Ridiculously talented Seeker.”

“Hey. I meant I played by the rules, and you played _dirty_ , but still flew beautifully. Take a compliment before I remember you trying to bash me _off_ my broom.”

They both chuckle. Draco's fingers brush down Harry's arm from his shoulder, and he pecks Harry's cheek naturally, his stomach fluttering with fabled butterflies. Scorpius watches them like he's seeing snow fall outside, he's so entirely enchanted. He clears his throat tentatively, quieting them both. “Mother used to say Father is a natural flyer.”

Harry readily agrees. “He is. So am I. I bet you are, too.”

“I don't know, but I like flying. My professor said I did well.”

“Then give yourself more credit. I bet you're wonderful.”

Draco bites back laughter that would shake his shoulders, endeared entirely to the pair of them so cutely uncomfortable and politely waiting now for the other to speak. Scorpius shrugs shyly, and Harry huffs air adorably, looking so flustered and lost like he had with Lily the first time she'd made it clear she'd _known_ about them.

He gauges them a little longer—Harry's clear fear of overwhelming Scorpius and Scorpius's uncertainty of familiarity—and decides to be serious. “Scorpius, if you have anything you wish to say to Harry, you may speak to him—anything about...what you learned yesterday.”

Scorpius looks Harry's direction and then away again toward the tree, anxious.

Harry's face falls into something more melancholic.

Draco moves slightly, leaning forward, catching the boy's attention. “You needn't be afraid, Scorpius. It's all right.”

Harry shivers a little in his peripheral vision against him, but he agrees. “Yeah. It's okay. If...you want to ask me a question, that's fine. If you just want to tell me you're upset, that's also fine. Anything you need to say. I'll listen.”

Scorpius slowly lifts his eyes from the tree and rests them over Harry once more. Draco watches like a hawk, hyper focused on the emotions shifting through his son's face; curiosity, discomfort, shyness, frustration, and the slightest bit of defensiveness come through most.

Harry tries to smile and seem more welcoming.

The poor sod. Draco smiles at him for the effort.

“Father said...you love him like he loves you. Is that true?” Scorpius asks with a speculative frown.

Draco's smile slips, and he stares at his child as Harry answers, “Yes, Scorpius. I love your dad _very_ much. He's so important to me.”

“But you haven't cared for him as long as he cared for you.”

“I don't...think so. No. Doesn't mean what I feel for him now is worth any less.”

“Father also said you loving him was a reason you left Albus's mother.”

Draco sends Harry a look of apology, but Harry shakes his head, undeterred. “I had personal reasons to have the divorce, just as Al's mum did. My feelings for your father were...greatly important to me in some of the thinking, yes, but I had no idea if your father would consider me at all after everything. I...hoped.”

“Why?” Scorpius asks, genuinely interested. “He said things were too late for you two together.”

“Well, that's _him_. I don't think anything's ever too late if you can possibly try again.”

Draco rolls his eyes playfully. Harry smirks. Scorpius closely observes them both.

Harry spreads his palms open briefly. “Look, Scorpius, I _promise_ you that I love your dad, really I do, and I'm not using him for anything.”

Scorpius's expression changes. Something steels in it a way Draco had not expected it to with his son's personality, but there it is—his own youthful skepticism manifesting in his son as protective frustration. And Harry doesn't stiffen beside him at all as Scorpius demands, “What if you leave him, too? It would hurt Father. I don't want you to hurt him. Not many people can, you know. Father is strong. But you _could_ , Mr. Potter."

Draco's mouth goes dry. Words fail him as emotions swell with awareness of just how _complex_ this child of his _really_ is. How much more growth the boy's had through school that Draco's still seeing glimpses of throughout the break, too.

Harry coughs and claims his chance. “Nothing I can tell you will really mean much if you don't trust me, Scorpius, and I get that. You lost your mum, a lovely lady, to something awfully sad and scary, and you're gonna be very protective of your father after that. I respect it. I know you love him. I know he loves you more than anything.”

Scorpius shudders, the poor boy, and carefully he meets Draco's eye.

“I'll never get in the _way_ of that, but I'd like to be part of your lives,” Harry continues, interrupting the quiet exchange. “An addition for you—someone else you can lean on for support whenever you need or want it. Though I don't know the future, I know I _don't_ plan on leaving him the way you're thinking. The divorce was...complicated with Ginny, and I've known my feelings for your dad for a long time. I just kept them...a secret. I loved them both, and it was hard.”

Scorpius's head swings to Draco again.

He nods. “I wasn't the only one with a secret, Scorpius, but it's not a competition. Harry is genuine. You can take him at his word. If you couldn't do so, he wouldn't be in my life, period, let alone anywhere near _yours_. Understand?”

Scorpius exhales, breathing out any tension. “Yes, Father.”

“I'm not expecting you to like me right away, or to be more than just polite the way your parents raised you to be in manners,” Harry explains sweetly. “I won't force you to open up to me or be close. I'll leave you the offer to take up whenever you feel comfortable to do so. No expectations. Just openness. That sound okay?”

Scorpius nods, seeing Harry finally with something else. The start of trust, perhaps.

Draco bites his lip, feeling awkward now as well, and decides to help his son feel more secure about Harry. He reaches and takes Harry's closest hand with his right one, interlaces their fingers over his left leg, and observes his son watching them.

Harry stays quiet, thankfully understanding what he's doing.

“I hold his hand, remember?” Draco murmurs, nodding alongside his son. “Good. You _can_ trust him, Scorpius. I promise. He _is_ Albus's father, and Albus is your best friend. I know that's awkward. I know it's strange. But it should mean, at the least, that he is trustworthy.”

Scorpius settles more after Draco's words, the shade of his eyes softening from a nervous dark winter storm into the brightening puffy clouds outside beginning to snow in the foggy lightening of the sky. “Are you going to tell Albus? Father said I can't talk about it with him yet.”

“I was planning to do so, yes. I will speak with all of my children, even though Lily already knows by accident. And I appreciate you understanding that it needs to come from me first.”

“I don't want to be a bad friend, Mr. Potter. Rose is my friend, too, but Albus is...he's my first friend. My best friend,” Scorpius states defensively. “I won't hurt him, ever.”

Harry smiles again, rather warmly with something so _knowing_ , and squeezes Draco's fingers. “I know that feeling—his Uncle Ron was my very first and best friend, too, and I don't want him hurting ever, either. I'm glad to hear you're close. I am _relieved_ to know he has a friend like you to watch out for him in school. Thank you, Scorpius.”

Draco's lip lifts as Scorpius's expression morphs into surprise and then mild grateful embarrassment.

The clock nearby chimes seven, and Harry scrunches his nose under his glasses. “I'd love to stay, but I have to get ready for work. It's my last active shift outside of emergencies for the next few days. Ginny and I are alternating a lot with the kids until Christmas Eve. Molly's invited us all to spend the night at the Burrow in hopes of making it easier...and starting new tradition, I suppose.”

“I see,” Draco replies, his thumb stroking the back of Harry's fingers. “Let me know when you speak with them. If you need me to...do the same.”

“It'll be very soon, I guarantee you that,” Harry states with a loud yawn. “'Scuse me. I'd still like to spend some time together with all of us. What do you think of that, Scorpius?”

Scorpius flushes a bit warmly. “Um. That...would be okay, right, Father?”  
  
Draco smiles. “Yes.”

Harry winks at his son, then smiles at Draco and leans into him snugly. “I'll let you know, babe.”

“Nothing ridiculous, though,” Draco warns Harry, gleeful inside as his son begins to smile. “I shan't learn to skate in front of four children.”

“What, didn't you know how already? Figured you would have.”

“Steadily avoided learning, _thank_ you.”

“Oh, I think you could do it. It's a great idea.”

“ _No._ ”

“Come now. Babe, you're graceful. All lean and leg. You're a perfect skater.”

“I've been embarrassed in front of you enough for one lifetime, I think.”

Harry chuckles and lifts Draco's hand with his. Scorpius gasps under his breath when Harry's lips press to Draco's skin. “Fine, I won't push. But maybe I _will_ bring my broom somewhere and let us both have a fly. Nice bit of romance in the holiday won't hurt.”

Draco blushes hotly, Scorpius's eyes widen, and Harry snickers. Draco playfully sneers, then shifts to the side and kisses Harry's cheek before the pair rise. Scorpius gawks after them adorably, at their held hands between them as they walk to the Floo close by.

“Good luck,” Draco whispers, knowing his son is listening closely.

Harry nods. “I'll need it. Thanks, babe.”

“Harry,” he says, letting go of Harry's hand to frame the handsome jaw. “You can do this. And if you need me, I will be there.”

“I appreciate it.”

Harry sneaks a glance around Draco's shoulder. Draco's eyes follow, and both grin when they see Scorpius pretending to be _very_ interested in the tree instead of them. Quickly Harry pushes up for a kiss, his thinner, firm lips still soft to Draco as always. Harry backs off chastely, but Draco kisses him again, a little deeper.

They part, this time with Harry bright red through the cheeks.

Draco grins. “Love you, Potter. Best cool down before work, lest you walk in redder than Weasley's hair. It's charming, I think, but not a good look long term.”

“Love you, too, you rosy berk,” Harry teases, pecks his cheek, and with a quick hug and farewell to his son, exits through the Floo network.

Draco steps to the doorway to the dining room, debating what to have for breakfast since there's no way he can fall back asleep right now if he tries. Scorpius appears at his right, and Draco drapes an arm about his son. “Eggs, you think?”

“You do love him,” Scorpius whispers, chin tilted up. “I heard you.”

“Yes.”

“You kissed him. Lots. I saw you do so before on the stairs, too, as I stepped down.”

“Yes, I did.” Draco elbows him lightly with a small grin. “Not so bad, is he? Rather adorable, I think. He's so nervous for you to like him.”

Scorpius blinks, looks to his slippers, and smiles. “He is?”

“Absolutely. Your approval means as much to him as his children's of me does for myself.”

His son stays quiet while Draco enters the kitchen and grabs for the eggs, too hungry to debate about it any longer. He cracks a few into the skillet he retrieves, pausing only when arms surround his sides. Hands up in the air with eggshells, Draco gazes downward to see his son hugging him tightly.

“You _are_ happy,” come the words muffled into his ribs.

“Yes, Scorpius,” Draco replies, dropping shells to the counter so he can bend to kiss the pale hair with all the fatherly hope and love inside of him. “I am.”  
  
  
  
  


 


	50. j a s p e r

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

50.

 

j a s p e r

 

 

Snow teases over the black cap covering Scorpius's hair and ears. It flutters down and paints Draco's cheeks, sticks to his lashes, and covers his long winter coat and cloak. His son's gloved hands are out, palms open to catch little flakes the way roofs in Hogsmeade have, blanketed peacefully in the muted hustle and bustle of the shopping crowds below.

They've purchased more gifts. Draco's arms are loaded up on special broom waxes and stickers one can charm to personalize a broom for fun at his son's age, and a handsome burgundy cable knit jumper for Harry rests in its own bag over his left wrist. Scorpius carries gifts for Albus, too, in his continued worry after almost two days of silence from Harry's end of things.

Draco, thinking of those three children, imagines all the bits of string tying them together now. Draco isn't informed of James' tastes in things, so he might need some help from Harry, and Lily can get her usual chocolates and something else if he can find another idea. But he has an authority on Albus and so asks his son what His Friend Albus might like for Christmas. 

Scorpius shakes some snow off, laughs, and leads him by the hand happily to a shop with lights all about the door twinkling in bulbs quite like their own on the tree at home. Inside are witches with children and grandchildren examining toys of all kinds, and Draco keeps an eye out as they pass through people, always protective.

His son manages to squeeze between some younger children, kids half Lily's age, and scans the back wall at a variety of magical lamps lit for display. Draco points up near a sleek black one with almost invisible glass blown around it in a gorgeous curved, wide twisting shape. Scorpius shifts, jerks his cloak closer so no one steps on it, and takes a closer look. Inside the glass between the black base and spire tip is magical light floating about; it bounces inside aimlessly, just flowing without directed guidance, a stream of magic.

A witch with a shop badge replaces a lamp on an empty stand near it, turns, and sees the pair of them watching the particular lamp together. “Got an interest, have ya? It's quite a pretty piece. _Very_ special.”

“How so?” Scorpius asks for them both.

The witch brushes red curls from her eye as they toss with her hat over her shoulder. “Well, lad, that bit of light there is made of permanently summoned Cold Fire and can be charmed into _any_ shape you want. It can fill the whole vase and brighten a small woods, or it can be very small, the size of a beetle. It's all about what your imagination wants it to be.”

Draco raises his brows, interested, and Scorpius's eyes gleam. “Can you make it a snake?”

“For grand Slytherin? Why, yes. Simply think of your shape, right? And then you cast the charm like this,” the witch winks, smiles, and pulls her own wand out of her robe pocket. “ _Muto Lux_.”

Draco and Scorpius watch eagerly as the light changes from the aimless little streak, brightening, lengthening, and then pops with a bit of almost pixie dust into the form of a coiled snake. It slithers up around the glass, flicks its little blue tongue, and looks about.

Children all around them stop and stare, adults turning too. Everyone watches, captivated.

“You wish to try?” the witch asks, grinning at Draco. “What'll it be for the handsome wizard?”

Scorpius's eyes dart up to him, nervous.

Draco shrugs the flirting off, smirks, and murmurs thinking of his love, “Lightning.”

The witch laughs and bumps their elbows together. “So powerful. Yes.”

Draco and the rest watch her cast the charm again, and the snake disappears, popping again with minute light blue dust until it shifts into the form of a cloud filling up the top of the lamp into the black metal spire. The little cloud glows bright blue, and then a small bright bolt jolts down to the bottom of the lamp. And another, and another, a few crossing and blending together.

“Fascinating,” Draco murmurs. “How many of these do you have?”

“Just the one now. Can order you a custom one, of course, different metal or wood base.”

“We'll take it.”

“Excellent,” the witch praises him. With a swish of her wand, the light calms down into its neutral floating state, wiggling about like a small comet. She reaches and lifts it off of its small personal shelf. “I'll just go get this wrapped, shall I? A gift?”

“For my friend,” Scorpius explains, smiling.

“House?”

“Slytherin.”

“Will do,” she winks, bumps Draco's elbow again, and carefully manages her way through the crowd of people.

Scorpius waits until some jealous children shift their attention away, pointing at other lamps, and he whispers as Draco bends slightly, “I think she fancies you, Father.”

“Appears so.”

“What...do you do now?”

“Be polite and not encouraging.”

“Should we tell... _you_ know?”

Draco snickers. “He'd just laugh.”

“Why'd you choose that lamp?”

“Think he won't like it?”

“He'll love it. I'm just curious.”

Draco sighs and tugs his son slightly out of the way for an elderly witch and her very tiny grandchild. “Because, Scorpius, Albus is a boy who needs to live without being in someone's shadow. I thought perhaps being able to form his own light this way might encourage him.”

Scorpius blinks up at him, lips parting in surprise. “Oh.”

Draco twists his mouth to the side. “Scorpius?”

“Hm? Just...that's really thoughtful.”

“I surprise even myself sometimes.”

“ _Father_ ,” Scorpius chastises him gently with a pat to his arm.

The pair browse a little longer for the line to go down near the registers, and Draco nods his way through some more winks and smiles from the witch as she presents him the boxed and wrapped lamp.

“The light...won't go out in there, will it?” Scorpius asks, concerned, staring at the green and silver striped wrapping paper.

“No, Scorpius,” Draco tells him. “It's summoned light. It'll be fine in there.”

The witch nods reassuringly. “Even included a list of charms in case ya need to revive it somehow. A paper for the lamp's care. The form charm. You're all good.”

Scorpius exhales, relieved.

Draco smiles, the witch smiling back at him. “A Happy Christmas to the pair of you. Come back for that custom lamp.”

“Perhaps. Happy Christmas,” Draco murmurs and carefully takes the small box with its ribbon now bouncing on top slightly.

His son calls out the same salutations, and they cross foot traffic to The Three Broomsticks. Draco guides them near a small table to the left of the fireplace. Scorpius sits excitedly, hands already lifting a menu from the wood.

“Butterbeer, butterbeer,” Scorpius hums quietly.

Draco laughs. “Yes. Get some food, too. A glass of water.”

“Why water?”

“The butterbeer here is quite rich if you're not used to it.”

“Will I really get to come here with school next year?”

“Yes. I'll sign your permission slip.”

“Thanks! Albus, Rose, and I can come here together.”

“Exactly.”

Hired hands help the tired, but rosy cheeked and currently jolly Madame Rosmerta. Large platters of butterbeer float above heads, old wizards rest closer to the fire in chairs with pipes quietly smoking, and Draco looks about for a moment, unable to believe it is the same place of his memories.

Of his dark, dark memories of a girl panicking, of a necklace he doesn't want to carry, of fear for his life and pressure until he can't stand it. Of Potter chasing after him out of the Great Hall _aware_.

He jumps when Scorpius yanks on his fingers next to him, small indoor polite voice urgent. “Father!”

“What, son? Calm down,” he requests, squeezing softly until Scorpius lets go.

His son is staring at him with odd fear.

“What?”

“Are you okay, Father?”

“Yes,” Draco says, frowning. “Why?”

Scorpius swallows. He glances away to the fireplace. “Your face changed.”

Draco's frown changes to surprise. “How?”

“I don't know, Father. It just...got dark. I've never seen you look that way.”

Draco sighs, cursing in his head, and puts his arm briefly about his son. “I'm fine. Just had a bad thought was all. A memory. Nothing to worry about.”

His son is reassured and distracted enough by a young witch working through the holidays as she comes to take their order. The butterbeer comes quickly, hot in tankards, and Draco grins as Scorpius sips it excitedly, a bit of the top layer along his upper lip that his son licks off.

“Good?” he wonders, happy for him.

“Very!”

“Enjoy it.”

“Why does it taste so good here? I know I've had it at The Leaky Cauldron before.”

“Because Scorpius,” Draco says, gesturing his head towards Rosmerta, “that witch there brews this kind special. It's sweeter.”

Lunch comes out not long after, and they quietly eat, both of them watching people come and go. Some toast loudly, some sing carols, and some grumble about a toy being sold out last minute the day before Christmas Eve.

They Floo home from a nearby shop as many others do, and Scorpius sweetly goes upstairs to hide Draco's newest gifts. Draco places the box with Albus's lamp upon his desk. He pulls out a strip of parchment and writes, _Live in your own light and cast your own shadow._ He signs it with a seasonal greeting and folds it to stick under the ribbon.

Sometime after dinner that night once Scorpius has tended to both owls in a new little arrangement he's quite enjoying, Draco takes evening tea near the tree in his night robe, looking it over with different emotion than he'd expected to have months ago.

He's peaceful and calm even if he is sad and missing her.

He's full of quiet pride hearing his son doing some reading assignments upstairs and muttering to himself so preciously.

And he's full of curious hope, nervous worry, and this bizarre thing called Christmas cheer.

The sudden knock at the front door shocks him entirely out of his thoughts, and Draco almost drops his fucking tea at the muted, repeated sound. He glances once to the stairs, notes that Scorpius hasn't heard it, and goes for the door. His sits his tea at the dining table, and he turns back through around the corner into the parlor. With a fast check to his robe's pocket to be sure his wand is within reach, he jerks the door open.

Ginny Weasley stands on the other side with a box and a bag, an almost perfect rotation from the day he'd gone to the flat with Lily's potion.

Draco's brows rise.

She shrugs. “Can we talk?”

Draco hesitates only a second, enthralled oddly by the light of the snow floating down upon Ginny's red hair in the darkening evening. And then he opens the door wider. Ginny enters, shrugs her coat off through the door, and hangs it on the nearby rack next to his and Scorpius's coats, cloaks, and scarves.

He leads her into the dining room, noting her eyes looking all over the place with mild surprise and pleasure. She stares at his tree for a few seconds especially, her eyes soft for it alone, and then turns into the dining room after him.

Draco sits in his usual chair near his tea and resumes drinking it. His arm extends to Harry's usual spot, and Ginny slides into it, the bag and box on the table in front of her.

He waits.

She sighs. “Mum always taught me that if you visit someone during holidays, you take gifts.”

Draco arches his left brow, grey eyes drifting down to the items upon the wood. Ginny ruffles the bag open and pulls a bottle of whiskey out that she sits down again. The box pops open to reveal Christmas decorated sweets, tarts, and chocolates.

“Got a couple glasses?” she asks him, eyes on the bottle.

Draco gets up and retrieves two tumblers. One slides into her waiting palm, the other rests in front of him when he takes his seat once more. “What's going on?” he demands, the slightest bit curt. “Has something happened?”

“Yes,” Ginny says, popping the top off the whiskey. She pours some in each glass, continuing, “Harry...is speaking with them. He has been since an hour or more ago.”

Draco almost drops the glass that was halfway to his mouth. Ginny's hand to his right darts out and settles under the glass until he's gripped it properly again. He coughs, not even with a drop of alcohol in him. “Is he all right?”

“He's positive, but it's not been easy.”

“How did it start?”

“I had a final team meet to discuss next season meet ups, and when I came home, he was supposed to have taken the kids for dinner and dessert and brought them back for the evening.”

“And?”

Ginny swallows down her whiskey with experience. “And, Malfoy, I Apparated home to find my oldest son _screaming_ and my youngest son barely speaking with my daughter crying.”

Draco tosses his whiskey back now, moisture burning his eyes. He holds the glass to his forehead, his hopes fucking dashed. “Fuck. _Fuck_.”

“It wasn't his fault,” Ginny begins, pouring them both another round when he hands his glass to her waiting fingers. “I helped calm them down enough to discover what happened. Apparently some witch in Fortescue's shop decided she needed to get overly friendly with Harry in front of our children. They got upset, as did he. James yelled at her for asking Harry out in front of them, Harry tried to calm him down a little, and the witch _fled_ the shop...thankfully _not_ hearing my _daughter's_ threat.”

Draco's brows almost reach his hairline. “Bloody hell. What...did she...?”

Ginny stares at him, amusement clear in her eyes. “She said, and I quote, 'Don't worry, that lady is in _so much trouble_ when Mr. Malfoy finds out.'”

Draco's hand with the glass falls back to the table gently. His jaw slightly gapes, and the very surprised laugh bursts from him. “She didn't.”

“Harry said he wanted to laugh so badly, but he was too in shock, and Lily panicked once Albus asked her why you would be upset.”

“Darling girl,” Draco murmurs and sips. “She's so full of fire. Wonder where _that_ comes from.”

Ginny smirks at him knowingly. “Yeah.” Her smile falls. “She broke down crying in the shop. James and Albus demanded to know why she was upset. Harry brought them home and tried consoling her. She's afraid you'll be angry. Harry's reassured her you wouldn't be, and for your own sake, I hope he's right.”

“Ginny—” He stops, heart clenching. “I am _not_ angry with her. I'm proud, if anything.”

The protective defensiveness that had just entered Ginny's gaze vanishes as fast as it appears.

Draco shakes his head. “So he had to talk with them, of course.”

“Yes.”

“ _Shit._ ”

“It wasn't how he'd hoped to do it, but he was trying. Talked to them as he had Lily,” Ginny tells him, fingers tracing the rim of her glass as she reaches with her free hand to grab a biscuit from the box. “James first wanted to know if Harry seriously meant the pair of you were a couple. Al was very surprised, of course, and quiet in his shock, but he demanded to know if Scorpius was aware when James started arguing. He let Albus know that you'd spoken with Scorpius, and that you two had hoped things would be okay for my family. James...well.”

Draco grinds his teeth. “Say it.”

Ginny sighs tiredly. “He wanted answers, so Harry gave him truth—how he'd cared for you for years, but kept it hidden away, that he's bisexual, and that he did _not_ see you while we were married or leave the family for you. When James got really loud, Lily started screaming about how much happier he's been lately, and James got indignant. He feels abandoned and betrayed, and he told me so when I pulled him out of the room alone.”

“Is Harry—”

“He was rattled. Bless him. He was crying some as he tried to talk with all three arguing with each other at once. I had him take a minute in the kitchen, and I had my own talk with them.”

Grey eyes close with heaviness. “I am sorry for _this_. For them struggling.”

Ginny shifts beside him. His eyes reopen when he feels the chocolate bounce off of his fingers as she tosses a second one. Draco looks at her, but picks it up and eats it. Ginny nods. “I told them they were allowed to be upset, but they had to be upset with us both. I told them I gave _you_ my blessing. Harry dropped his glass behind me, and James broke down.”

Draco shudders. His face tightens as he tries to hold back emotions.

Ginny almost laughs. “Should have seen Harry's face. He couldn't _believe_ that. I was surprised, myself, that _you_ had never told him.”

“It was between you and I,” Draco grunts and gestures for the bottle. “I respected that.”

Her small smile astounds him.

Draco exhales and ruffles his hair from his brow. “I'd never meant for Lily to carry a burden, you know. I imagine it's been a regret for Harry, too. We did have a lovely dinner, the three of us.”

“I know. I don't hate you for it.”

“Will...the boys be...?”

“I think they'll get there,” Ginny says after chewing. “Albus has done well since they got home with the divorce changes and should keep doing so as long as we continue to show him we're all present and communicating. I think he's shaken more by Harry's sexuality being revealed. Yours, too. Harry had hid it very well all this time, Malfoy, and that's one reason James exploded on him.”

“They felt lied to,” Draco knows. He looks through the doorway, thinking of his son. “Scorpius...didn't scream. He felt...sorrow for me for hiding it.”

“Your situation is different, Malfoy, and I can...I can respect that. James was...angry at Harry, and he used protection of me as a front to stand up to Harry in confronting him.”

“He's his father's son,” Draco whispers proudly, corner of his lip rising slightly. “And yours. He loves the pair of you so much. He's so strong willed.”

“Absolutely,” she agrees, toying with her empty glass. “But he goes too far sometimes in his attitudes. Struggles with boundaries and is far too smart for his own good in a way I hear is very reminiscent of Harry's father.”

“He's his age. No boy is exempt from attitudes, I think, growing into teenage years.”

“With all my brothers, I know you're right.” Ginny looks around the room, taking in the soft red paint of the walls. “Albus tried to reassure James. I hadn't expected that.”

“How so?”

“He said they could trust you. James said history told Al he couldn't and shouldn't no matter Scorpius being his friend, and Harry about lost his mind. I shut him up, and Al kept going,” Ginny answers, the first bit of serious wetness showing in her eyes. “He said you've been nothing but helpful to him. Kind. A role model where he feels Harry can't be sometimes. He said...he always wondered about the way you would tense when he'd speak of Harry after your wife's funeral. Asked Harry about it and the like.”

Draco wipes his face and sniffs, heels of his palms to his eyes.

“My son looks up to you, Malfoy. And Harry and I both know he's gained much confidence the past two years with Scorpius and your letters in his life.”

“That's great,” Draco speaks softly. “I'm proud of him. I'm...honored.”

“You damn well should be,” Ginny retorts protectively.

Draco huffs and tosses a tart at her. He shakes his head. “I hope their holiday isn't fucking ruined.”

“James alternates being a bit loud and quiet. He'll be quiet tomorrow, and I'm sure my family at the Burrow will be distracting enough,” she says, hopeful. “I told him to listen to Harry. I'll talk to him again tonight after I leave here. They were doing a bit better, and I wanted to give Harry privacy with them on it. Figured my presence might make it a little harder with James, even with me on Harry's side of things.”

“Did he ask you to come?” Draco questions, a bit confused. “I didn't imagine he...would want to put you in such a position.”

Ginny pins him with her blue eyes. “He didn't. There was something I wanted to speak to you about, too. I figured when Harry hadn't known about our elevator chat that I could trust you, and...well, I need your opinion.”

Draco sits back, flabbergasted. “On _what_ , precisely?”

For once Ginny Weasley looks nervous in an embarrassed way.

Draco grins. “Oh, it _must_ be good.”

“I have your word.”

“Yes.”

She blows fringe from her face. “I've...had some interactions with someone you know. I don't know how to deal with it.”

“Interactions?” Draco drawls, smirking like a cat with a canary in a cage. “Come now.”

“He bought me coffee, berated me, and later asked me to see him New Years Eve like an oblivious arsehole.”

“Who?”

Ginny crumbles a biscuit over the table and pokes at the bits left. “Zabini.”

Draco's head tosses back, and he laughs.

Frustration she's _clearly_ been carrying privately around appears in her face and her voice, and she growls under her breath, “Snooty Pureblood Slytherin bastard. Has the nerve to critique my playing, then buys me coffee. Tells me _tips_ to better my game, then asks me on a date. He's an _idiot_.”

“Tell me _exactly_ what he said,” Draco orders, sitting forward again.

Ginny scowls. “He's been showing up to my games. Has his own bloody box. He approached me for the first time at the beginning of the month with coffee after an away match. Said I'd lured opposing Chasers well, but that I could take it a step further. Blamed me for one play. Handed me fucking coffee that I _know_ didn't come from the stands. It _smelled_ expensive.”

Draco nods.

Her scowl shifts to a puzzled frown. “And when I told him I didn't give a rat's arse what he thought since I remembered him being a complete _jerk_ in school, he smiled. Last week he showed up to the end of my last seasonal scrimmage for fun with our sister team. Applauded me leading a Chaser enough to bounce the quaffle _off_ of the bloke and into the goal, then told me I could still improve. Asked me to _fucking dinner_ on New Year's, gave me a rose, and left. Is he _mad_ , Malfoy?”

Draco chuckles, shoulders heaving. “I should thank you. I've got such _dirt_ on him now.”

“You're welcome. Now answer me, idiot. Why should I ever even _speak_ to him? He used to mock me. Said I was ugly. Spit on my family the way _you_ did.”

“Blaise is and has always been a snob,” Draco admits with a smirk. “He comes from a strange family background, knows only money as consistency, and has high standards no one meets.”

Ginny rolls her eyes, grabs the bottle, and adds a little more to her glass.

He laughs. “But.”

“But nothing. He's a prick, and if he comes at me with _chocolates_ next time as he tells me what else I fail at, I'll _hex_ him.”

“Ginny.”  
  
“I've learned plenty over the years, but I've got my own. The Bat-Bogey Hex. Won't he look great covered in that leaving the arena after being told to piss off.”

“Ginny.”

“What? I can't _stand_ him. I want to _hate_ him. You all were such _awful_ people, and he isn't like you! He didn't try to help, didn't try to change, wasn't even there! He fled with the other Slytherins, the fucking coward.”

“ _Enough_ ,” Draco snaps, arm pointed at the doorway. “My son's upstairs doing homework.”

Ginny's cheeks, heated from her rant, flush more. “Crap, I...I'm sorry.”

“It's fine,” he assures her, calm again. “Let's try this again.”

She squares her shoulders. “Fine. He's a snob that I don't understand who seems to have _some_ strange fancy for me, and it's absolutely horrendous.”

Draco shrugs. “Then tell him _no_. Clearly. Say you aren't interested _ever_. He'll listen, even if he grumbles. If you had when he brought you coffee, he wouldn't have asked you to New Year's festivities _after_ that.”

Ginny hesitates, and Draco stares at her.

When she doesn't speak, he rolls his eyes. “What is it, woman?”

Ginny flicks a large crumb at him over her glass. “I didn't...exactly say no. Or yes. I didn't say much at all.”

“Why, then?”

“Didn't know _what_ to say to the arsehole that wouldn't cost me a complaint to the team manager.”

“True, but don't lie to me if you want my help.”

She pulls her long red hair back from her face. “All right, fine, something about it was nice. I don't know _what_ , but something was. He's a good looking _jerk_ who brought me expensive coffee and a rose on separate occasions. He's a fan who thinks he has a right to argue with me over _team_ plays, like he forgets I'm part of one.”

Draco slowly smiles and leans upon an elbow on the wood. “He's pushing you, Ginevra, because he _respects_ you—your playing, your strengths, and likely over the years, you as a person. Blaise doesn't heckle any he doesn't care about. He gripes at those in distaste and walks away, not wasting his time. His critique of you isn't meant to be rude at all, though I imagine it wasn't entirely politely delivered; he wants to see you keep growing, and he's obviously proud of you.”

The broken piece of biscuit frosting that had almost been to Ginny's lips falls from her fingers to the table's top. She stares at him wildly. “Are you serious?”

“Very,” Draco smiles smugly. “I should applaud you. Very few people earn Blaise's respect, let alone earn it enough to get him talking like that.”

“So he just has some respect of me as a player, that's that. The coffee, rose, and date offer are really more just him thinking he should 'encourage' me in his way.”

Draco chokes down the last of his glass. “Um. No. He fancies you. His talks with you are his misguided attempts at courtship, I'm certain. Forgive him—he's had little positive example in properly doing _anything_ that isn't Pureblood societal nonsense. I know he's...changed in his own way since the War. Since Hogwarts. He's got a good position for an international wizarding exchange—coordinates and works as a translator ambassador between our Ministry and that in Italy. His father's family is from there, though he never really knew the man. He went through several stepfathers that passed away. I always carried suspicions that men married his mother for wealth, she discovered it, and she killed them, but that's only truth he could know.”

Ginny's brows steadily slip upward. “Really?”

Draco leans his chin on his propped up knuckles. “Yes. At the least, Ginny, know he's quite respectable these days, if you take little else from me about it.”

“Shocking.”

“I suppose.”

She's silent a minute or two, and then she eyes him from the side. “I can't be thinking about this. About him. It's ridiculous.”

“Makes sense, I think,” Draco argues, left hand waving his point. “You're not that different in real personality strength. You're two strong willed individuals with motivation to get shit done, you tolerate _no_ crap from anyone, and you expect much from people you need to work with or rely upon. From people you _care_ about. You're protective of them the same way, too. And, no offense, you can be just as critically snippy as he gets.”

“Shut up,” she whispers, blue eyes boggled. “Don't say that.”

“You'd rather I lie?”

“No. But.” She laughs, the sound tired. “Does he not remember I'm divorced with kids?”

“He's undoubtedly very aware. I'm _positive_ that's exactly why he _has_ spoken with you this month.”

“Does he hate kids?”

“No idea. But he _isn't_ stupid. He knows your children will always be your first priority, and that they are a significant part of your life.”

Ginny grumbles under her breath. “Ugh. I'm not Harry. I can't...just jump into something else like he has already. The feelings, the relationship was there for the pair of you. That's different than me...going on a random date. I'm a mum with three kids. I don't _want_ a fucking relationship. My marriage is getting out of my system, and I don't need to confuse myself. And I've enjoyed my space, more than I honestly thought I would.”

Draco locks his jaw. A mixture of tangy guilt, hope, and genuine friendship stirs him enough to reach for her hand and take it. “Go at your pace for _anything_ , Ginny, but don't hold yourself back out of fear or guilt. I spent Scorpius's life and _my own_ doing so. Learn from _me_.”

Ginny doesn't speak, but her eyes talk volumes.

He gently lets go of her and smiles softly. “Besides, maybe he _literally_ just wants a dinner. Maybe he's not sniffing for a relationship, either. He's always been the type to want his own space and would understand your needs well. Perhaps you'll simply gain a friendship.”

She tilts her face, blue eyes searching him. “And if he wants more?”

“Then he'll wait until you're ready if you indicate enough possible interest.”

“How do you have such faith in him?”

“Because though he's a prick and an arse and drove me _mad_ sometimes in school, he has been better since. He was at my wedding and Astoria's funeral. If the bastard weren't constantly between countries, I'd see him once in a while.”

“If he's so busy, how does he get to the games?”

Draco bounces his brows. “Clearly he's been making the time.”

Ginny flushes, her cheeks _bright red_. “I don't...I loved Harry so long, and I made moves, and this is so _different_ , even if nothing comes of it.”

Draco folds the lid on the sweets box shut. “Roll with it. Might be terribly fun. And if it's not, walk away, no problem.”

“Yeah, well, _three_ kids. So. I appreciate the thought, but I'll just see where life goes for myself for now.”

“Good for you, then.”

The clock chimes eight, and Ginny looks to the bottle, then to him. “Enjoy the rest of that. I need to get home to the kids and make sure Harry's still sane.”

“Tell him....” Draco worries over his lip. “Tell him if he needs me that he should come through, no matter the hour. Tell him...I'm proud of him.”

Ginny pushes her chair back. She considers the little mess of crumbs and smiles when Draco waves her concern off as something he'll deal with later. He follows her back to the door, makes sure she slips into her coat, and gets a quick, “I'm fine, not knackered or drunk.”

Hands up, brows up, Draco shrugs no offense.

She shuffles at the door, mulling something over in her head, and then she turns and inhales deeply, blue eyes direct as always on his. “I'll help with the boys—not just because I want them feeling safe and secure and happy, but also because I know how much this means to Harry. And...honestly...there's lots of worse people out there that could be in your place, I suppose, and I'd rather have even _you_ around my kids than them. You're a father, a protective one. You understand.”

“Intrinsically,” Draco replies. “Thank you.”

“James might be...rough around you the first few times you meet,” she adds with both apology and warning. “So, Malfoy—”

Draco holds his hand up, silencing her immediate darker tone. “I know it's outside your scope of normal to have faith in _me_ , but do so here. I've thought about this a great deal.”

Ginny nods, grateful.

“Thank you for telling me what happened.”

“Thanks for letting me drink and groan about Zabini.”

Draco opens the door for her, watching her step out into the snow on the front steps. “I doubt you'll make habit of it, but...I understand you wanting to speak with me. You may continue doing so should the need arise.”

Ginny kicks at some snow. “And you won't tell Harry?”

“Not if you don't. It's _your_ business. If you feel it's going somewhere, I've no doubts you'll tell him with the children possibly becoming aware of it.”

For the first time _ever_ , Ginny Weasley smiles at him. Broadly. “Thanks. Maybe I dislike you a little _less_ than before.”

Draco scoffs, warmth in his eyes. “Don't strain yourself _too hard_ there, Ginny.”

She laughs briefly, mirthfully, and with a quick roll of her eyes, she Disapparates.

And Draco stands there, the door open in his hand, wondering how his life manages to always to twist and turn along the stones he never sees coming.  
  
  


  
  
  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm working on finishing this story, writing another long Drarry piece that will go up after this finishes posting, and tweaking a Drarry one-shot at the moment. If updates gap a bit, it's for that reason. Stay with me, please. Thanks, folks.
> 
> Best wishes,  
> the_never_was]


	51. c e l e s t e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

  
  


51.

 

c e l e s t e

 

  
Late the next afternoon, a lazy Christmas Eve begins to wind its way down.

From a full breakfast of hot chocolates, scones, and eggs and sausages to a lunch full of goodies brought through the Floo from one excitable Pansy, Draco feels utterly stuffed physically and emotionally, resting against the sofa with his eyes barely open as the old clock chimes three.

Pansy's legs are tucked to the side in her black leggings and red skirt, her soft white blouse almost matching her to the tree décor behind her. She sits with Scorpius on the rug, the pair of them playing with a gift she'd brought for Scorpius—a sort of magicked parchment which allows whatever the artist draws to move about the page as if alive. Cats stretch, owls fly, and snakes slither about the edges.

Draco smiles, eyes softly closing with the latest image of a tiny snitch darting about the paper nearly as fast as the real ball would go.

“I'll draw me a Seeker then,” Pansy teases, her voice warm. “Might just catch your little snitch.”

“Not if I draw a bludger to fly after you.”

“My, Scorpius, listen to that deviousness. You _are_ your father's son.”

One grey eye cracks open to find Scorpius drawing the bludger with a shy smirk on his lips.

Pansy winks at Draco and shakes her hair. “Look at it go. I think you can draw a better bludger than that. My Seeker can outfly it. Look, he's almost got the snitch.”

“Two bludgers, then, and a Beater to smack them faster.”

“Now you're thinking.” Pansy hums as Draco starts to slightly drift off.

“What's that?”

“Hm? Oh, just giving my little Seeker his number.”

“You also drew glasses on his face and wrote 'Malfoy's Boy' on his back.”

“And?”

“And that's...Mr. Potter.”

“Exactly. 'Malfoy's Bloke' doesn't rhyme so nicely. Look, he's almost got your snitch. Go, Potter, you little arse, _fly_!”

Draco chuckles quietly, arm over his face.

Scorpius gasps. “I've _almost_ got you!”

“Not fair. One, you just drew another Seeker while I wasn't looking. Two, the _real_ Potter's _always_ had stupidly good luck in quidditch. He even coughed up a snitch once.” Pansy tuts her tongue. “Draco, your bloke's letting me down already. Come draw yourself to give him _inspiration_.”

“Not his fault you can't draw for shit,” he mutters with a laugh. “And _no_. You stuffed me more at lunch than most cooks do their centerpieces of meat.”

“Draco, this is a masterpiece. How _dare_ you. And _I_ didn't put that much lamb down you. That was _your_ fork, you greedy thing.”

“He's going in circles. I don't think he'll catch it,” Scorpius points out in the middle of their bickering. “Could be the magic's wearing off.”

“Nope, he just needs a better broom,” Pansy argues, the sound of a scratchy quill following. The Floo fills with soft sound Draco misses as his breath deepens to her voice, and she mumbles, “There. Now _get it_ , Potter. Zoom your little self.”

“ _Zoom_ my _what_?” Harry asks rather loudly, confused.

Draco's eyes pop open. He sits upright instantly, his open collar granting Harry a wonderful glimpse of pale throat that the green eyes take in with suppressed delight. Harry stands nearby in comfortable muggle clothes looking absolutely exhausted, but smiling all the same.

Pansy rolls her eyes, points her finger at the paper, and says, “You're chasing the snitch. Catch the damn thing.”

Harry steps closer and peers down over her shoulder; he reads his tiny drawn jersey, snickering. “Wow, Parkinson.”

“What, it's true, you're his boy,” she shrugs, glancing to Draco with laughing eyes.

“He's my _man_ , thank you,” Draco corrects her and pats the spot next to him.

Scorpius blushes a little, watching the pair of them as Harry moves to sit down. Draco puts an arm about Harry's shoulders and kisses his cheek, nuzzling the tip of his nose back to Harry's ear and jawline.

“Are you all right?” he whispers, lips pressing another little kiss to stubble.

Harry exhales shakily. “Mostly. I think.”

Draco sighs and pulls Harry tighter to him, fingers brushing through dark waves to bare the scar of history for a brief moment. “Talk to me.”

“It's still...really rough with James. We just got everybody over to the Burrow for the night. Molly's got dinner going, and George has _all_ of the kids on some little treasure hunt in the house. I had a drink with Ron and 'Mione, and Ginny told me to get my arse through the Floo to see you already. Guess I looked a bit...upset still, I dunno.”

Draco's lip curves in gratefulness, and Pansy looks up at him in shock.

Harry himself lifts his head and stares Draco down behind those glasses with the abyss demanding answers for a change. “She said her talk with you went well.”

“I think so.”

A dark brow rises upward. “She _also_ said she gave you her blessing months ago.”

“Yes,” Draco answers. “She did.”

Harry's jaw opens.

Pansy glares at him, interrupting their talk. “Hey, arsehole, _I'm_ your friend here and what am I good for? Nothing, apparently. Couldn't have _talked_ with me or anything. Might've let me friggin' _help_ you.”

Draco angles his face, eyes soft. “You have, and you're playing with your godson. Shush.”

Pansy's retort dies on the spot. Her mouth falls open, her eyes well up the slightest bit, and Scorpius inhales with surprise as she hooks the boy into a hug. “D'you hear that?” she asks him, tone breaking. “I'm finally your godmother!”

“That's, um, great, Pansy...but you're squishing the paper. And my head.”

“Oops. Oh look, I broke Potter's _glasses_ ,” she teases, sweeping her gaze to the sofa. “Guess I'll just redraw those.”

Harry narrows his eyes, and Draco clears his throat to gain his son's attention. “Scorpius, technically all you need is a hand catching the snitch.”

Scorpius grins, takes the quill from a squawking Pansy, and sketches little fingers about the snitch. “Got it. You lose! I mean, um, not _you_ , Mr. Potter. Pansy loses.”

Harry sends Scorpius a quick wink, and the boy smiles.

“That is _cheating_. Draco, you are _terrible_.”

“I thought it was rather clever,” Harry commends him, sending a smirk Pansy's way for an eye roll in return.

Draco shrugs elegantly. “ _And_ , Pansy? Your point?”

“And I'm not finishing my thought with my _godson_ here. He's too precious to hear such naughty things.”

“I'm _twelve_ ,” Scorpius reminds her gruffly, arms crossing. “I'm not a baby.”

Pansy grins at him. “Oh, I know. You're Draco's miniature down to that tiny scowl on your mouth. It is so cute to see again.”

Scorpius sneers, but it breaks and he laughs.

Draco notices Harry sit forward, his thoughts obviously on Scorpius with deep consideration, and before he can ask what's wrong, Harry calls Scorpius's name. Pansy and Scorpius stop chatting and turn, his son watching slightly warily.

“Yes?” he asks.

Harry smiles his shy and sad mixture. “I...have something for you. Al...asked me to deliver it if I came today.”

Scorpius shoves to his knees immediately. “He wrote me?”

Draco adjusts for Harry to stick his hand inside his jacket pocket and pull out a small rolled parchment. “Yes. Here,” Harry hands it gently with Scorpius trembling as he receives it. “He's been quite worried about you.”

“Worried about me,” Scorpius echoes, smaller grey eyes roaming the parchment.

Draco focuses on his son, frowning with concern.

Pansy sighs and squeezes Scorpius's shaking shoulder. “I'm sure it's fine, darling. I've a Christmas party to attend, so I should go. Let you three...be alone.”

“Thanks, Pansy,” Draco murmurs, appreciative.

She pushes to her feet, nodding, and pads away over the rug and wood to her heels. With a pat to Scorpius's hair and a kiss to Draco's cheek, she _sweetly_ bonks Harry on the back with her purse and quickly whispers, “Enjoy your _presents_.”

“Pardon?” Harry wonders, turning about to view her as she rounds the sofa.

Draco rolls his eyes, Pansy cackles, and she tells them all goodbye with a quick exit through the Floo. “A box in my room,” he answers in Harry's ear, feeling the skin turn warm with flush.

When Scorpius just sits on the floor, nervously unrolling the paper, Draco lets go of Harry and crouches down beside his son, offering his torso for Scorpius to curl into as he reads. Scorpius shivers with anxiety. He sniffs. And then he wipes his eyes with one hand.

Draco braces himself. Though he knows Albus Potter would _never_ abandon Scorpius over any of this, he doesn't know what else the boy might write his son. Harry waits on the sofa, torn between watching Scorpius with concern and Draco himself the same way.

“You okay?” Harry asks kindly. “If he wrote anything rude, please say so.”

“No, no,” Scorpius tries to speak as he calms down. “Nothing rude.”

Draco kisses the pale hair reassuringly.

The parchment rolls back up, and Scorpius exhales and stares at his magic paper with its random doodles moving about still. “He...says he misses me. That he doesn't blame me if I'm angry with him or you, Mr. Potter. That he...isn't angry at _me_ or my father, even if it's _really_ weird. He hopes we're not going to avoid each other now.”

Harry goes to speak, and Scorpius cuts him off without knowing it, adding with a soft whisper and a little smile as he touches the rolled paper, “He says maybe I'll really be like a brother. I've always wanted one.”

Draco closes his eyes, and he feels Scorpius lean into him for a hug.

“I'm really glad,” Harry tells them. “Al had a point, though. Are you okay?”

Scorpius's cheek rests to Draco's chest, but his eyes observe Harry tightly for Draco to witness below him before they dart away again. “I'm happy for Father being happy.”

“Thank you,” Draco says, kissing the hair again. “That's mature of you, Scorpius.”

“Absolutely,” Harry agrees. “But how do you _feel_ , Scorpius?”

“I don't really _know_ you,” Scorpius admits, sitting upright again. “I don't know you, Mr. Potter. I know you make Father happy and that you love him. That you're Albus's father, and that you've been nice to me. That you're the Boy-Who-Lived and a hero. But none of that is knowing _you_ , is it?”

The strangest mixture of pride and worry races through Draco.

Harry swallows nervously, bless him, but he nods, brave as ever. “Very true. I'd love to know you better. Your father and I have talked about you often—even your mother and I have before. But that's not knowing _you_ personally, either, huh.”

Scorpius shakes his head.

Harry shifts on the cushion, eyes Draco once, and bends to his knees, scooting close. Broad palms rest over his knees. The look there in Harry's face is the softness of snow falling to the holly outside; it's the openness of the sky with its swirling white clouds, and the heat of the fireplaces warming the home. Draco melts like a charmed snake, hypnotized by that gentle softness. Scorpius does beside him, too, the grey becoming like silver between them.

“Well, would you like to write one another over term?” Harry questions, one hand rising upward and hanging in the air to wait. “And I'm sure I'll see you more over the rest of your time home.”

Scorpius hesitates only a second, and then he reaches, and Draco swallows down churning emotion as his son shyly nods and shakes Harry's hand.

Harry smiles widely. “Great. Thank you.”

“I...I want to write Albus back. Can I run upstairs and do that? Will you take it if I do?”

“Of course.”

Scorpius hugs Draco quickly about the neck and pads up the stairs in his slippers, nearly falling as he dashes around the banister with Draco's calling of _slow it_ , _son_ trailing up after him. Harry chuckles, extends a hand, and pulls both himself and Draco to their feet.

They enter the bedroom, and Draco shuts the door. He points to an unwrapped red box with a gaudy gold bow on top. “Her gifts for us from _you-know-where_. I wasn't planning on opening it for awhile...figured there was no, ah... _cause_ yet.”

His love's cheeks burn staring at it. “She mention what might be in there?”

“Something about leather straps. Potions. Wouldn't surprise me to find _other_ toys.”

Harry smirks and eyes him from the side curiously.

Draco turns Harry about and sits him on the foot of the bed. Carefully he leans over him, and their brows rest together, rubbing lovingly. Long graceful fingers trace the bold jaw and cup Harry's cheek. “Don't hesitate. Tell me the truth. Are you truly okay?”

“I don't know,” Harry confesses without people watching this time.

The tremor wracks through Harry and into Draco's brow and hand, and he gives the box a hard shove away to lie Harry back, resting overtop of him. His lips press and tease like butterfly wings, his weight is warm and comforting, and Harry holds onto him until he breaks, the tears suppressed in sound as much as possible syncing with the fingers digging into Draco's back.

“Sometimes I think James really hates me,” Harry says, so broken. “It kills me, babe. It absolutely _kills_ me. He's cried, he's screamed, he's let me hold him and then avoids me for hours. I don't know what to _do_.”

Draco kisses Harry's mouth and then the tip of his nose. “He doesn't hate you.”

“I know he feels weird about it all, and I don't blame him. Merlin, our arguments...I didn't even know my son _knew_ some of the words he shouted at me, Draco.”

“As if our own vocabularies weren't full of trash at that age.”

“Yeah, but... _damn_.” Harry shakes his head, still shuddering. “He thinks I've betrayed him, the whole family. He's _angry_ with them for not agreeing with him. Al and Lily are upset he's angry with me despite their own feelings about us. I don't know how to fucking _fix it_ , and I _hate_ not knowing how.”

“Time's required, unfortunately. The rest...is persistence, I think, on your end through this, and him getting to know me. He's experiencing great change, Harry, and he's experiencing it as something blunt and out of nowhere because last he knew his family was shaky, but normal, and then it wasn't normal at all. He returned to school only to come home for holidays to discover _this_ as well. He is in _shock_.”

“Don't you think I fucking know that? I tried to reassure him as best I could, and he told me he doesn't know who the fuck I am anymore!” Harry almost shouts, the sob painful in his hoarse tone. Draco's brows arch. His love flinches beneath him and rubs tired eyes. “Sorry. I'm sorry, babe. I didn't mean to yell. I've just been trying and trying since she and I first discussed divorcing, and I'm tired of feeling like I'm failing my kids, especially James. I can't break in front of him. He needs me to stay strong, even if he doesn't know that.”

His lips soothe away some of the stress. “Surprised you've not popped like a fucking balloon yet, you poor sod. You're a good man, Harry. A good father under _far_ too much stress. Give yourself some fucking credit.”

The sad laugh trails away, not quite giving up but so very tired. “Trying. I've been hoping the stress'll ease out...slowly...like an air leak instead of a pop.”

Draco moves Harry's fingers away to look into the green staring up at him. “What of Albus?”

“Al....” Harry blinks, seeming lost. “He's...okay and not? I don't know how to explain it. He's upset in general, but not at you or me? He's...something, bless him. I'm proud of him. I think he'll adjust with time okay. At the least I think he'll give us a chance to be around him.”

Breath steals from him. “Good. And Lily?”

“Ginny told her you weren't angry,” Potter murmurs, a slow smile curving his lips. “Said you _laughed_. That you were proud of Lily. It helped so much, Draco. She went from crying to smiling when I tucked her into bed.”

“Excellent. I _was_ proud of her, Harry,” he explains, the memory of that laugh in his mind. “I adore that girl. And this _witch_ best watch herself if she _dares_ petition you in front of you the children again. The fucking _nerve_.”

“Believe me, James embarrassed the hell out of her...but, even so, I wish you'd been there.” Fingers stroke his cheek and chin. “Lily adores you, too. You have no idea how happy it makes me.”

Draco turns his head, rosy and secretly thrilled. “Yes, well all I hope for is them not being angry with you when they are with _me_. You don't deserve that. James can hate me and blame me all he wants, so long as he isn't taking that out on you. I can handle it.”

“I deserve some of it. I flipped their lives upside down.”

“Yes and no, Harry. This isn't right and wrong, black and white, stupid binary simplistic thought. This is _everything_ ,” Draco grunts, shaking his head. “This is the grey and the rainbow, everything messed up and everything so _perfect_. We're all in the wrong. We're all in the right.”

“Maybe years from now we'll all look back and sigh from a better place. Maybe one day they'll all understand how _lucky_ we have been with this going as well as it has with its bumps. Ginny and I _speak_ , for one. _Amicably._ She and I talk with respect where we could scream and bicker and split the kids in _half_.”

“So long as _we_ have hope for them, it's possible. Yes, you made decisions, and yes, they do have consequences, but your reasons are sound. I refuse you to lose that damn determination I know lives inside of you, Potter,” he states firmly, unsurprised by the roundness of Harry's eyes behind the lenses. “As _painful_ as this can get, you've been through far worse. You can _do this_ , Harry. Perhaps one day they will start to understand when they're much older and can respect your reasons. Perhaps James will see you never left his side, and that you've always _loved him_ dearly.”

Harry breathes heavily. He quivers, eyes jumping back and forth as they follow Draco's own gaze leaping about his face.

Draco kisses the guilt ridden love of his life, invigorating Harry with a surge of energy. “I can't say we _haven't_ been selfish, Harry. But I also can't say we've done anything truly _wrong_. We didn't start an affair while you were married and living at home. We aren't running away together and leaving our children behind. We aren't starting a life _without_ them in the picture or telling them to _choose_. We're _considering_ them every fucking step we take. It seems fast for them, but for us it's been part of a lifetime already waiting.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair, tucking longer fringe up past his forehead as he makes himself breathe slower and easier. “It's never felt wrong with you. And I know it's fast for them, and I know that no matter what I say, it doesn't change that feeling.”

Draco growls out, hopeful and stuck, “Harry, what's to say all this isn't happening for its own cause? What if later in life James has need of you, yes, and his mother, of course, but also _me_ somehow? How could I ever help him without being in the picture? What if Ginny meets someone also important to your children and we simply don't know that yet? I'm no practitioner of the Divination arts, but I'm not blinded enough to believe this is all simply happening for my _own_ fucking convenience. There's...threads enough for all of us in Fate's hands, aren't there?”

Harry's thumb brushes his eyebrow lovingly. “I guess it _is_ possible.”

“I shan't justify or deny the emotional damage, but if it gets all the pieces of the board where they're best to be, then I cannot deny that either,” Draco speaks, bared and bloody emotionally above Harry. “I worried all night. I _know_ all of this struggle with the children makes you feel alone as a father. I know it makes you hope you're doing the right thing with your resolve. So just remember something, Harry. We wouldn't _be here_ if you hadn't been so ridiculously brave and fucking force fed me soup, you stubborn arse, so keep that fucking resolve and see where else it takes us all, mm?”  
  
“I don't know how you do it, babe, but you always know what to say,” Harry whispers fiercely, eyes locked onto his, heartbeat pulsing against his own as he laughs the smallest bit. “I _love_ you, Draco Malfoy.”

Warm hands tug his head down for a hot kiss. A tongue licks his lower lip before teeth catch its fullness teasingly. Draco opens his mouth, groaning lowly, and returns the fervor until Harry grips him about the neck and lifts his hips for a quick thrust.

Draco whines in the back of his throat at the erection hidden against him. He _misses_ it. One fast glance at the shut door lets him slip his hand down for a quick rub and hold through the trousers, nearly shattering Harry judging by the smothered sound of temptation the Chosen One gives. Draco slams his face down onto the soft mattress next to Harry's head, grumbling with sexual frustration.

“Believe me, I get it,” Harry swears beside him. “Can't count the damn mornings of cold showers after dreams of _you_. I stand there in the water _telling_ myself how it's so _not_ appropriate to sneak through the Floo and make love with you before Scorpius might wake.”

Draco moans into the blankets.

A palm grips his bum and lightly smacks it through his trousers, and Harry groans. “Mm.”

“You're not helping,” he mumbles, feeling his desire coursing rapidly southward. Draco rotates his head and views Harry from the side. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me what you need,” Draco reminds him sternly. “Whatever it is, whenever it crosses your mind, say it.”

“I will,” Harry responds tiredly. “It's more finding the right time for...um, things.”

Draco smirks and tugs Harry across him, curling together with satisfaction.

Steps he's trained to hear have his sleepy eyes sliding to look, watching the door behind Harry's shoulder. Scorpius raps at it timidly. “Father?”

“Enter,” he calls, kissing his nervous partner's scar.

The door creaks the tiniest bit, and Scorpius patters inside parchment in hand. He looks over Draco stretched out with Harry over him snuggling, and the boy smiles shyly. He extends the parchment for Harry to take. “Here. I'm finished.”

“I'll get it to him straight away, thank you.” Harry sits up and takes the parchment, leaving Scorpius relieved. “Dinner's soon, so I should really go.”

“Mr. Potter?”

“Yeah, Scorpius?”

Draco bites his lip as his son toes the floor with a slipper's edge. “Might I get to...see Albus soon? I got him some presents.”

“Sure. I don't know what's all going on the next few days, but we'll figure it out.”

“Okay,” Scorpius nods, stepping curiously closer as Harry beckons him.

“Happy Christmas,” Harry says and curves an arm around each of them. “Love to you both.”

Draco chuckles at Scorpius's big, curious eyes behind Harry's back; together they hold the loving and slightly anxious Gryffindor, one on each side of him, until the completeness Draco once imagined he might find with the three of them sitting on a sofa manifests itself right there in his bedroom.

 

 

  
  
 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Thank you for being patient.]


	52. i v o r y

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [As the chapter headings don't let this story upload with sections, Christmas Day is divided into three parts.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

52.

 

i v o r y  


(C h r i s t m a s,

p a r t   o n e)

  


Grey eyes upon wet drops of glass, he shudders in the fog of what to do.

He's prepared Scorpius's traditional hot chocolate and blueberry scones, and he stands near the window overlooking the garden with his heart wrapped in its bared thorns.

Draco knew that this day would be momentous from the second he woke with the idea in his brain. The very significance of his idea hangs in the air, as if walking a wire, and the snow falling outside is his only source of relief from the feeling. He can't help but wonder if Harry's already awake with happy children or if he, too, is standing alone at a window in the Burrow with a cup of coffee, feeling lost and hopeful.

The clock strikes seven, and Scorpius's door opens, the boy running excitedly down the steps with his soft voice calling out, “Father! Father, wake up! It's Christmas!”

Draco smiles as Scorpius almost runs past him to Draco's bedroom, and the slippers skid across the wood. “Morning. Breakfast is ready.”

“Morning,” Scorpius beams, then dashes for the dining room with Draco behind him. His son falters at seeing the food on the table, and for a second, Draco wonders if he has committed a grave error in fulfilling a memory of her for him.

Scorpius stands still.

Draco's arms go about him and hold him steady. “She is here if we let her be.”

He bends, kisses Scorpius's head, and helps him sit at his chair. They share a quiet breakfast wherein his son studies him cautiously. And Draco sighs as Scorpius downs the rest of his cup, murmuring, “I thought you might want to see her. To wish her a Happy Christmas. But we don't have to go if it would be too upsetting for you.”

His son stares at him. “You mean...visit...her...there?”

“Yes, Scorpius.”

“Do...you go?”

“I have, yes.”

“Is it scary?”

“No. Sad sometimes, but helpful.” Draco reaches for the dirty cups and stacks them with their small saucers. “There's no pressure, Scorpius. She'd understand if you'd rather be here and think of her in spirit while enjoying your day. I just...thought to offer.”

The dishes barely have time to settle into the deep sink before small arms are about his waist and a face is pressed to his back. “Okay,” Scorpius whispers. “Okay, Father.”

“You're certain?”

“I'm nervous.”

Draco turns carefully and takes Scorpius's shoulder. “I understand. Let's get dressed warmly.”

Feet run up the stairs, and Draco returns to his bedroom to change, each step feeling more weighted than the last. Draco looks about as he pulls on a jumper, feeling like he's forgetting something. It's as he glances to the tree while going for the front door that his eyes alight on one of the little baubles flickering. Without thought, he reaches, removes it from the branch, and tucks it into his pocket.

When Scorpius meets him downstairs with his own set of slow, heavy steps, Draco takes his gloved hand, and the pair begin the bit of walk from their drive down to Godric's Hollow not far away. Fat, wet flakes fall around them, and their tracks mark the otherwise perfect fallen snow. The closer they get to the village, the louder they hear some caroling and laughing children already out by eight to play. Scorpius laughs as snowballs fly past them at one point, magically guided like bludgers to go after someone's relative running fast away up the road.

They pass through the cemetery gates, and Scorpius stops.

He swallows and shivers as if with cold, but Draco has done the very act enough to know better.

“It's all right,” he assures him, tugging gently with his hand.

Her stone appears, dusted with snow, and Draco lets go of Scorpius to clean it off. He bats at the built up pile of white gently, wipes the top and down the front clear, and he pulls the bulb out, understanding the impulse to bring it. Scorpius moves closer as Draco seals it to the base of the stone, charms it for protection, and watches the light flicker still with warmth.

His son bends to a knee next to him.

They both watch the light, entranced and silent, oblivious to the holiday cheer not far away.

Scorpius's hand extends, and gloved fingertips trace the letters of her name. “Happy Christmas, Mother.”

Draco smiles gently. “Happy Christmas, Astoria.”

“I miss her,” Scorpius tells him. “I miss her all the time. Her voice...her laugh...her eyes. What...do you miss, Father?”

“Her smile,” Draco admits, scarf blowing about his neck. “I miss the many ways she would smile. And her red lips.”

“I miss her cooking.”

“Me, too.”

“And the way she sang to herself sometimes. Her perfume.”

Draco nods gently, and the tears start to come, slipping down Scorpius's cheeks.

“I miss her in the garden with tea...and her writing letters...and...and....” His son trembles, voice so small. “I miss _everything_ , Father. I want her _back_. It's not fair! It was never fair!”

“I know, darling,” Draco whispers and pulls Scorpius to him there upon the snow where they remain crouched together. “I'm sorry. Her loss wasn't something I ever wanted to happen to you.”

“It's not _fair_!” Scorpius almost shouts in grief. “I want you _both_! Why can't she be here, with us, and Mr. Potter could still visit you? Why can't things be _different_? Why couldn't you have been happier before, been so _close_ , Father!”

Draco's heart snaps in half, the sound audible in his mind, as if the crystal was carelessly dropped and shattered. The wind rushes like her memory alongside him in the hope of comforting, and Draco rests his face against Scorpius, grateful and hateful of the way things have gone.

For the lad is right.

He is closest to his son in her death, and he is happier with Harry in her absence, and neither seem fucking fair to his best friend who did everything for him. Neither are fucking fair to his _child_.

Yet....

His face lifts as the thought comes that this...this happiness, this difference...even with its bittersweet texture, it is _precisely_ what she had hoped for him as she'd died in his arms. And for that he can be thankful, and for that, he can respect her dreams.

“I may have many regrets in my life,” Draco states firmly, “but you have never been one.”

“F-Father,” Scorpius stutters, suddenly guilty and aware of things he's just said. “I....”

“I'm sorry, Scorpius.”

“No, I-I'm s-sorry. I didn't m-mean....”

Draco squeezes Scorpius's side. “Harry alone doesn't make me a happier man, Scorpius. When she was alive, I was happy with you two in the house. I also happened to be....”

“Sad.”

“Yes, in a way. Afraid. Repressed with my truth, and that was my _own_ fault for not being more honest with myself and you. That was never your problem or Astoria's.”

“And...now...?”

“Now I'm not afraid or lost in worry. I'm stronger because I have had to be so with her gone, and because Harry himself has brought it out in me with love. But I am a better _father_ , a better person, because of _you_ , Scorpius,” he explains with a gentle brush of glove to Scorpius's brow. “So much bigger now, and yet still so powerful, aren't you, my son?”

Scorpius's eyes become enormous.

Snow intently brushes their faces as it blows across the top of the stone for a moment. Scorpius grumbles and wipes at his eyes, and Draco smiles, lifting his chin. “There's no competition, Scorpius. You can love us both, can carry her here in your heart and have me at your side. You can have _Harry_ , too. We _are_ all with you, even if it isn't quite the way you wish.”

Scorpius blinks moisture away.

Draco holds him tighter, grey eyes on her name. “Talk to her. She listens, Scorpius. She knows you miss her, and she misses you _just_ as much.”

Scorpius considers his words deeply for a moment, then shifts on his knees, turns to the stone, and straightens his shoulders. “Could...I talk to her by myself?”

“Of course,” Draco assures him. “I'll be near.”

Winter cold is weighty and bitter as he rises and steps slightly away in respect, but after a minute or two, the wind spirits hints of his child's voice past his ears regardless; as if she wants him to hear it, to witness the little promise of his son to Astoria swearing, “I think Father needs me, Mother, like I need him sometimes. I want to help and keep him _strong_. Mr. Potter has helped some, 'cause Father smiles and kisses him lots. It's...sort of strange, but nice to see him so happy. Father said you liked Mr. Potter before...before you went away. I hope that's true, because...if _you_ did, Mother...then maybe I can, too.”

Draco closes his eyes against the tease of the words in the wind, his smiling face lifting to the snowy sky.  
  
And when Scorpius walks to him and taps his arm a few moments later after his goodbyes, Draco brushes a snowflake from his son's cheek. Scorpius scrunches his face, blinking more of the fluffy whiteness from his eyes as another gust swirls up teasingly. The beauty in his innocence, in his openness, in his amazing son looking up at him with love shines more than the sun peeking through the snowy day.  
  
"Ready to go home?" he asks softly.   
  
"To open presents?"  
  
"Certainly."  
  
"And ride my broom?"  
  
"Naturally."  
  
"Yes! I can't  _wait_! Let's _go_ , Father!"  
  
Draco laughs. "Then lead the way, Scorpius. You know how we got here. Take us back."  
  
Scorpius grins, yanks him by the wrist, and pulls him excitedly to the gate, both of them waving to the black stone with its little flickering light.   
  
  
  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Thank you for being patient.]


	53. w h i t e _ c h o c o l a t e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [As the chapter headings don't let this story upload with sections, Christmas Day is divided into three parts.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.
> 
> [Apologies; it didn't want to update the date properly on the chapter posting, so I just did a repost to be sure emails would be sent to subscribers. Also mild editing fixed on part of a scene in this chapter due to me accidentally moving a later, more privately set scene up and forgetting to take out some parts to make it more acceptable in this particular setting. It's been a ridiculous two weeks, sorry.]

 

 

 

 

 

53.

 

w h i t e   c h o c o l a t e

(C h r i s t m a s,

p a r t   t w o)

 

 

The floor is covered with scraps of paper, string, and strips of gold and silver ribbons. Boxes of clothes and books rest stacked around Scorpius's sides, various new toys sit making noises and lights between his feet, the new quill is balanced on his left knee in its box, and on his lap a booklet and magicked wooden puppet meant for Transfiguration practice hold his smiling attention. “This is going to be useful.”

“You'll have to show me what you create with it,” Draco murmurs, equally loaded upon the sofa. Scorpius has purchased him a newer black coat with white hooked claw buttons on the front latching it in an old-fashioned style along with a book on crystal usage, a handsome Slytherin crest blanket, a silver winding snake strap for his watch, and some sweets he knows Draco prefers.

Draco moves things aside to stand and reaches behind the tree where the broom has been hidden for a little while. Scorpius carefully pushes everything from his lap to the floor, and he follows Draco onto the rug between the sofa and the tree. Draco hands him the broom, and he crouches with another wrapped box, grinning as Scorpius tears the pretty paper open and bares the black wood and silver foot handles.

Power hums through the wood when Scorpius lifts it excitedly. “I can't wait to try it!”

“First, some other things,” Draco says and hands Scorpius the box. Scorpius quickly opens it, finding the care kit, waxes, some gloves, and the magicked goodies Draco bought from Hogsmeade. He points to each, explaining, “Care for your broom is absolutely important. The wood needs to stay in good condition, or it can become brittle and crack. The bristles need to be kept clean from debris. Wear these gloves so you don't hurt your hands. And these stickers...you can charm them to decorate it if you want. They'll come off easily, too, if you wish to change them.”

“Thanks, Father!” Scorpius nearly shouts, beyond ecstatic. “Can we take it outside?”

“Go get your coat on. I'll make sure it's ready.”

Scorpius hands him the broom and box and runs for the parlor, thumping the floor with happiness. Draco gives the present a quick inspection, passing it when he finds no cracks and no balance issues with the broom floating horizontally over the rug.

They walk out the back door and into the snowy garden, and Draco watches Scorpius stand slightly nervous now with the broom. He pulls his wand from his new coat's pocket and waves a warming charm over his son, grinning when Scorpius thanks him gratefully. “Go on,” Draco urges, smiling still. “Let's see you fly.”

Scorpius laughs, takes a few running steps, and shoots into the air with the broom, a scream of shocked pleasure echoing after him. It bounces off the nearby forest and the house behind him, growing louder as Scorpius spins in a corkscrew formation, laughing over top his whooping cries of happiness.

Draco stands in the snow near the covered swing, chuckling to himself as he watches.

A few minutes into the flight, Scorpius turns too fast and nearly falls off, and Draco almost has a heart attack watching it, already moving on his feet with his wand armed and his lips ready to speak the _Arresto Momentum_ charm. But then Scorpius shifts perfectly, adjusts in the middle of the curve, and yells out in relief.

Draco holds his wand to his chest, his heart pounding away beneath it. “ _Scorpius!_ Watch it, son!”

Scorpius slows the broom and hovers nearby, eyes wild and wet from the wind, hair a shining mess without his hat. “I'm okay! I'm fine, Father. Just turned too fast.”

Draco exhales and shakes his head. “This broom is _much_ faster than those old practice ones at Hogwarts. You must remember that.”

“I know, sorry.”

He taps Scorpius on the tip of his nose. “How's it feel?”

His son beams at him brightly. “Great! It flies so smoothly.”

“Excellent. Keep learning its nature. Some brooms get finicky.”

“Will do.”

“And I know the _temptation_ to go as fast and high as you can is there, but I highly advise you against it unless you want to be frozen before you fall down. Be _careful_ , damn it.”

“I will. Your charm's wearing off, Father.”

Draco snickers and waves another one over him, warming Scorpius. His son smiles, waves, and flies past him into the air, whooping all over again. Draco uses a blast from his wand to clear the swing, and he rests upon it, snuggled with his own warming charm, one leg over the other in gorgeous black down to his boots.

He watches Scorpius fly for another ten minutes, thoroughly amused and in love with the boy's very catchy happy mood up in the sky. And it's not until he hears the crunching coming close that he even glances up, brows arching as Harry plops down onto the swing with him, laughing.

“Look at him go,” Harry cheers, hand sliding over Draco's thigh. “He's so happy. A natural like you.”

Draco shifts closer, rests his head to Harry's shoulder, and casts yet another warming charm over them both; the silly bloke's only wearing a thinner jumper and trousers with his shoes, likely not expecting he'd need a coat through the Floo.

“Have a good morning?” his love asks him.

“Went by the cemetery. It was...good, I think. This is better.”

“Good. You okay, babe?”

“I'm fine.”

“Also, is that a new coat? It looks _fantastic_ on you.”

“Scorpius picked it out for my Christmas.” Draco sighs as Harry kisses his brow. “Not that I'm _not_ pleased to have you on the swing, but what are you doing here, Potter? Haven't you a Burrow full of people?”

Harry's fingers slide up his leg to pat his knee. “Yeah. Well. About that.”

“Merlin, what?”

“Molly wanted me to extend an invitation for the pair of you to join us all. To eat.”

Draco sits upright, nearly missing Scorpius twisting quickly nearby. He stares into Harry, absolutely uncomfortable. “Harry, that's...it's....”

“Too much, I figured,” Harry nods, looking both sad yet understanding.

“Well, _isn't_ it? What about _your_ children? James?”

“I want them to meet you properly, and I know Al misses Scorpius, but...yeah, I don't know. Is it worse to wait with what time we have left before they return? Will it only make him angrier for meeting you regardless of waiting? At the very least, Molly wanted to invite you for two reasons: One, she wants you and Scorpius to know you're welcome there with her and Arthur, and two, she wants to make sure the both of you eat well today if you're going to be alone. It's just how she is. So you either say yes, or I bring you plates.”

Draco smirks, unable to stop shaking his head. “And you didn't just tell her _no_ , then?”

Harry shrugs, and the glasses shift to view him from the side. “Figured...maybe I'd see what you thought first.”

Scorpius waves as he zooms past, shouting hello to Harry, and Draco's heart settles. His grey eyes turn and rest over the gorgeous bloke at his side, and Draco kisses the bit of scruff growing along Harry's jaw. “It might...be difficult.”

“Any time we try this will be. At least here they've got several calm adults to see as examples, Draco,” Harry suggests, shrugging again. “Ginny was supportive if I wanted to bring you through. The others wouldn't mind. We...sort of had a talk before breakfast.”

“So many Weasleys,” Draco mutters, imagining rooms full of gingers. “Might be too many, Harry.”

“Just Ron, Hermione, Rose, Hugo, Charlie, Percy, my bunch, Ginny, Molly, and Arthur. George, his wife Angelina, and their kids left to visit Angelina's family after breakfast this morning. Bill and Fleur and their children are in France with her side today. So...you're actually missing _several_ of them.”

“Still a house full of gingers, and regardless, only one of them likes me. _Your daughter_.”

Harry laughs and pulls him in for a quick kiss. “Oh shut up. You know that's not true.”

“Hm.” Draco whistles sharply, making Harry wince beside him. It works though; Scorpius slows above them and lands gently, being as careful as Draco instructed. “Scorpius.”

“Yes, Father? Hi, Mr. Potter.”

“Hey, Scorpius.”

Draco nods his head at Harry. “Albus's grandmother has invited you and I for dinner with them all if you'd like.”

Scorpius instantly smiles. “Are Rose and Albus both there, Mr. Potter?”

“They sure are.”

“Father, can we go? Can we?”

Draco holds his palm up, calming his son slightly. “I suppose we can, but Scorpius...it might be...a little awkward. I'll be introduced as Harry's partner, and there might be some problems.”

Scorpius's excitement falls. “Oh. But....”

Harry adjusts, sits forward on the swing determinedly with the resolve Draco had told him to keep using, and he says, “It'll be okay. It's just a bunch of adjusting we have to do, Scorpius. But if you wanna see your friends, you're certainly welcome to come on through. Your dad just wants you to understand the atmosphere might be strange.”

Draco twists his mouth to the side as he debates, completely unsure.

Scorpius's big grey eyes plead with him. And naturally, they win, powerful as ever.

He grunts, stressed already, “Go clean up.”

“Yes! I'll get their gifts,” Scorpius states, and goes to run past them. He pauses when Harry reaches out at the last second. “Mr. Potter?”

“Mind if I use that for just _one minute_? I promise to keep it safe and bring it in after.”

Scorpius looks between them, notices Draco smirking at Harry with a blush, and hands the broom right over, no questions asked. Harry waits until they hear the back door shut, and he swings a leg over the broom. Dark brows bounce teasingly as Draco rolls his eyes from the swing.

“C'mon, babe. Go for quick ride with me.”

“Shush, you.”

“Please? Please.”

“Harry.”

“ _Draco_.”

Draco groans, but shoves to his feet and steps through snow to the hovering broom. His brow cocks. “You're too far back.”

Harry winks at him. “That's 'cause _you're_ going in front.”

“Using me as a bloody windbreaker, are you? Selfish fuck. Go get a coat.”

“More like I want an excuse to hug you while we fly. Loosen up.”

Draco laughs, swings a leg over, and casts a final warming charm as Harry's arms encircle his waist. “Hold on, _Potter_ ,” he sneers, and the broom takes off with a flurry of snow trailing up from the ground.

Harry cackles in his ear, and the arms hold tight about him, one hand resting over his stomach, the other firmly over his hip. Draco's grin is ridiculously happy, and he gives into the enjoyment of the flight itself, twisting a few times and curving above the forest. Harry nuzzles his neck to avoid the cold.

Draco shouts over the wind, “Keep that up and we'll crash, idiot!”

“You've flown distracted before, Malfoy! Don't think I didn't catch you watching me in games!”

“Oh, _bite_ me!”

His gasp is lost to the air as teeth jokingly dig into his neck. And before he can try to land and get Potter in revenge, they spot Scorpius coming back outside waving with one hand as he holds boxes with the other under an arm. Draco makes sure Harry sees Scorpius before lowering them safely with Harry's hands chastely on both of his hips.

They climb off the broom, and Draco hands it to Scorpius, telling him to put it up carefully and that they'll check it over when they return. Harry gives him a quick kiss and heads back through the Floo, leaving him to freshen up briefly.

Scorpius finds him in his bedroom. “Aren't you bringing Albus's lamp?”

“Not yet. I want to have things prepared for his siblings, too.”

“Oh. Ready, then?”

Draco turns, snug in his cream jumper. “Yes. Let me fetch some wine from the cellar.”

Scorpius meets him before the Floo, and Draco smiles to himself, thrilled with how excited his child is even if Draco himself is fucking terrified. Scorpius goes through the Floo first, and Draco follows him after. His brows pop up as he sees Scorpius standing nervously near him and no one else in the immediate vicinity of cushions and coats and walls full of pictures.

But then feet come pounding through a hall, and Albus Potter appears alone, shocked to see them. His mouth falls open. His eyes are relieved and full of warmth, and seeing it all eases a knot inside of Draco's stomach. “Scorpius!” Albus calls.

“Albus,” Scorpius greets him a bit shyly, smiling all the same. Draco observes the shared look of anxiety between both boys, and then Albus comes forward and pulls his son into a hug, surprising Scorpius and relaxing Draco.

“I was so worried about you,” Albus mumbles into Scorpius's neck, their green jumpers almost matching and blending together in that second. “I got your letter. Thanks for writing me back.”

“Worried about you, too. Thanks for not being mad at me.” Draco tries to glance away out of respect, aching at the little reunion, and Scorpius lifts his arm full of small boxes as his friend withdraws and holds him by the shoulders. “I brought presents. They're for you and Rose.”

“We've got stuff for you, too. I think Rose has hers at her house, though. Was planning to see you on the train. But _mine_ are here.” Albus stands back, smiling, and then he notices Draco there, standing like a sentinel, and that smile changes into something _very_ much like Harry's own shy and sad one. “Hello, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Happy Christmas, Albus,” he replies, right side of his mouth curving.

Albus exhales, a little less tense. “You, too.”

Scorpius looks between them in concern, and then a redheaded girl slides around the corner. She's dressed with holiday charm from her hat to her boots in red and green and striped ribbons in her hair. Rose gasps at seeing Scorpius and runs over to hug him.

Albus doesn't look away from Draco, though, and Draco understands. “Scorpius, why don't you follow Rose a minute. Albus will catch up.”

All three children stare at him. Rose nods and assumes responsibility, tugging Scorpius by his free hand gently. His son mumbles worriedly as he's dragged away, the poor boy. And Albus Potter swallows and toys with the ends of his sleeves, _again_ so very like his adorable father in Harry's own nervousness.

Draco tries to appear as calm as possible with the boy seeming like a spooked rabbit. “So. You're...aware...of my new connection with your father now. Of my relationship with him.”

“Yeah,” Albus nods, looking him over. “He says you love him like he does you.”

“I do.” Draco exhales and steps closer, gently resting a palm over Albus's right shoulder. His eyes catch the hopeful ones before him. “I know it's a lot to handle. I know you have questions, and I will answer any you ask. I know your father is planning on us having some time together, all of us again over break, and I hope it will help. But...there's something I want _you_ to know, Albus.”

“W-What, Mr. Malfoy?”

“I am _grateful_ to you,” Draco says quietly, unblinking at Albus's wide eyes. “Thank you for being kind to Scorpius through this. For not blaming _him_ for anything. Your friendship is...extremely important to my son, and as such, it is important to me as well.”

Albus stares, mouth open. “I...I would _never_! Scorpius is my _best_ _mate_ , and he was there for me when my parents split up. I _knew_ he didn't know all this time. And besides, it's not just, um, weird for _me_. He doesn't...doesn't have his mum around like I do, so things....”

Draco nods. “I know. You've all been under stress with this, and I regret that. I'd understand if you...well, if you didn't like me very much anymore.”

“Oh...well, uh, Lily and I _don't_ dislike you,” Albus assures him. But his expression sours expectedly. “James does. He doesn't understand. He doesn't know you like we do.”

“He doesn't know me, no, but he has his own understandings of what's going on, Albus, and they're as valid as yours. You don't have to be defensive against him for my sake.” Albus hangs his head, embarrassed and mildly upset, and Draco pulls him closer into a makeshift hug at his side. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Then?”

“It's just...James shouts over me, and Lily shouts over him, and I feel if _I don't_ try, then I won't be heard,” Albus murmurs with a shudder. “I don't know how to help. I don't know how to make him listen.”

“Perhaps _he_ needs to be heard, too,” Draco whispers. “You're still being a good brother, Albus, even if you feel stuck right now. His issues need resolved through other means.”

“I don't know.”

Draco shakes his head and squeezes the boy's shoulder. “Albus, you carry within you Harry's vulnerability, and that is the greatest gift he could have given you. I know it makes you doubt or worry or fear, but know that it is this special trait which gives him all his famous courage and drives him forward through everything he's done. It is inside _everything_ in him. And it will get you through this and more. Know your strength. Have faith in yourself. Make it _your_ power.”

Albus blinks, stunned. And then he nods, dazed and thoughtful.

Draco winks, pats Albus's shoulder, and looks up as Harry steps forward, frowning a little. “Everything okay?” he asks, the green behind the lenses resting so curiously on his son.

“I think so,” Draco replies, quite calm. He glances back to Albus beside him. “What say you, Albus?”

Albus views him with open eyes, with surprise and curiosity, as if Draco is still an ongoing mystery to Harry's son. And then Albus smiles, slowly, just at him before turning to Harry. “Fine, Dad. Just saying hi.”

Harry's frown changes from concern to puzzlement, but Potter shrugs it off, face softening as Albus looks about the small area and then, quite suddenly, grips Draco in a hug about his sides before running out of the room entirely, cheeks red. Neither Draco nor Harry move. They simply view one another after that moment, Harry with happiness in his gaze and Draco with relief.

Draco finds himself tugged along much as his son was prior, his hand in Harry's grip as his beloved pulls him around the house and near a loud and crowded kitchen.

“The kids are gonna be playing upstairs for the most part,” Harry tells him as they get closer and smells of delicious food permeate the air. “So we're all down here.”

Draco is nervous with the people scrunched in the room. Hermione taste tests something in a cauldron near Molly Weasley as Ginny checks over some rolls, and Ron looks up from another doorway angled from them, his brows rising.

Harry keeps hold of Draco's hand, weaving their fingers together. He clears his throat, and Draco almost wishes he hadn't, feeling _immediately_ in a spotlight as every person in the room looks over.

Harry swallows next to him. “Draco and Scorpius are here, Molly.”

Draco fights the urge to back up and keeps his spine painfully straight, his posture perfect instead of relaxed, even as his nerves beg him to move. The room is silent for a moment with each person staring at him, and then sound resumes on its own with multiple greetings all called out at once. Draco blinks a few times, trying to orient himself in the chaos, and Harry kisses his cheek and puts an arm around him, holding him from behind with his chin on Draco's shoulder.

Ron comes over first, shaking his head. “Hey. Didn't think you'd have the balls to come through with everyone here, Malfoy.”

“Weasel,” Draco greets Harry's best mate hesitantly.

“ _Ron_ ,” Harry sighs tiredly.

“Oh, relax, Harry. I'm joking. Gotta rib him a little.”

Ginny shoves a rack of rolls back over a fire, head shaking in a good mood. “As much as you love Harry, Ron, _I'm_ his ex. If _anyone_ gets to wind Malfoy up, it's me. Stop being so jealous.”

Draco blushes as hotly as Harry does, the warm brow of his partner buried to his shoulder.

Ron checks his sister to be sure she's smiling and not furious, and upon finding her calm and amused, he huffs at her, just as flushed as Draco still is. “I don't love him like _that_ , Ginny, sheesh.”

She shrugs at him, brows up, and whirls from the kitchen with a tray of dishes for the tables.

Harry kisses at Draco's neck, and Ron snorts, his eggnog held near his chin. “Well, this affection thing's gonna take some getting used to with you lot. Least I didn't _walk in_ on something this time. Blimey, that's a hell of a thing to think about.”

“ _Knock_ next time, then, or we shan't stop for you,” Draco whispers with an impish grin. “Might even learn a thing or two, Weasley.”

Ron narrows his eyes and, unfortunately for him, forgets to whisper back. “Oh, fuck off.”

“Ronald Weasley! Such _language_! _Not_ in my kitchen, you hear me?”

“Yeah, Mum,” Ron grunts. Draco waits, curiously, but the amused stare down between Ron in front of him and Harry behind him holds enough power to make Weasley smirk and toast them with his cup. “Meh, it's Christmas. Gotta be jolly or something, right?”

Granger makes her way over and inserts herself between Draco and her husband. “Exactly, Ron. It's Christmas, so have some cheer. Hello, Draco.”

“Granger,” he murmurs, caught off-guard as she hugs him and Harry behind him together.

“Hey, her name's hyphenated,” Ron pipes up. “That's Hermione Granger- _Weasley_ to you.”

“Yes, yes, Weasel. You're married, we get it.”

“Hermione, dear, can you watch this right quick?” Molly calls in the middle of the organized pots and brews. She smiles at Draco kindly.

Her red hair has gone white in some spots, and it is pulled partially away from her face, hanging over her knitted jumper. Draco gives the jumper but a glance, and a glance is enough to make him recall words from so long ago now to Pansy over lunch in his jealousy of Ginny-once-Potter in her own knitted jumper.

Guilt eats at him as Harry lets go and Molly comes close to take Draco's hand, patting it between hers. “Sorry about that, Draco. Hello, dear. How are you?”

Draco takes a steadying breath. “I'm well, thank you. The invitation was...a thoughtful surprise.”

“Oh, of course! Can't wait to meet this son of yours. Two of my grandchildren talk _nonstop_ of him,” Molly confesses with a sweet smile. “And look at _you_. So grown up and handsome. All of you have grown up, and it is _so_ strange.”

Harry snickers. “You've said that for years, Molly.”  
  
“Yes, well, it's true. And now I have _so_ many grandkids. They were all here earlier. Thought the house might burst with us all!” Molly Weasley chuckles, still patting Draco's hand. “I'm glad you came, Draco. I hope you and Scorpius enjoy dinner shortly. Please, get something to drink. Harry can show you what we have.”

“My fave's the butterbeer,” Harry whispers in his ear. “Snagged from The Three Broomsticks last night by Charlie.”

Draco looks over his shoulder, smirking. “Scorpius will be _thrilled_ , Harry.”

“Try the nog,” Ron suggests with a sniff over his new full cup. “I made it, ah, _special_.”

Draco snickers and holds up his wine. “Brought this, actually.”

The bottle is instantly snatched away by Harry's curious best mate to inspect it.

Harry leads him through the kitchen and to the dining room where Arthur Weasley is already sitting with Hugo on his knee, talking to Peter—no, _Percy_ , Draco corrects himself with an inward laugh—Weasley and one other Weasley son. Draco tries to quickly place if he's seen this eldest sibling at all as a way of handling all the people around him making him anxious.

“Everyone, this is my partner, Draco,” Harry introduces him swiftly. “I know some of you have...met before, and some of you don't know him well. His son, Scorpius, is off playing with Al and Rose.”

“Ah! Draco Malfoy's here,” Arthur says kindly. “Happy Christmas, Draco. Good to see you. You look well.”

“Happy Christmas. I am, thank you,” Draco replies, ignoring all the eyes suddenly on him. “Your family considering my son and I was...unnecessary, but appreciated.”

Harry pulls out two chairs, sitting him in one and murmuring he'll return with drinks as he disappears.

Arthur nods at Draco, smiling. “Of course. Say hello, Hugo. Draco is your Uncle Harry's partner.”

Hugo considers him quietly, then waves. Draco waves back, smiling a little.

Percy gives him a once over. “I remember you. A trouble maker, through and through. A Slytherin brat at the time.”

Draco adjusts in his chair with agitation, and Arthur Weasley notices and attempts to calm him. “Now, Percy. All children can be _quite_ adventurous or mischievous. They still grow up to be fine people.”

“Yes,” Draco says evenly. Cautiously.

Percy Weasley shrugs and even smirks at Draco. “Didn't mean he hadn't done so. Just that I remember his attitudes from dealing with him when I was a school prefect. I do wonder how much you've changed, Malfoy.”

The eldest Weasley on the other side of Percy yanks Percy's cap from his head. “Stuff it, Perce. _You_ can still be a brat.”

Arthur chuckles and tilts his head. “That's Charlie, Draco.”

Charlie Weasley's squarer jaw stands out with his blue eyes and slightly wild cut of red hair, catching Draco's appreciation as Charlie waves with the hand holding the cap. Percy growls at his brother as he tries to grab for it, and the hat keeps slightly out of reach. Draco doesn't hide his smile.

Percy finally gets the cap back and brushes it clean. “Charlie, _must_ you do that? We're beyond old enough to stop with such nonsense, and you've made it smell like dragon smoke.”

“So? I smell like dragon smoke. Happens when you basically live with them.”

“Yes, but _I_ don't work with them, and _I_ wear this hat to work, and now _I_ will smell like dragon smoke! Ugh.”

Draco views Charlie Weasley with even more curiosity. “That's impressive.”

“I love my job.” Charlie winks handsomely, then faces the doorway as Harry reenters with glasses. “Hey again, Harry.”

Harry nods and sets a cup of Draco's wine in front of him. Draco sips it with haste. Harry notices, naturally, and puts an arm about his shoulders before he considers the room. “You okay, babe?”

“Fine,” Draco answers, both endeared and annoyed by Potter's continued watch of him.

Several eyes widen as Harry nuzzles him briefly before resting back in the chair.

People sit quietly, the atmosphere grows supremely awkward, and just when Draco gives up hope that someone will _fix_ it, Ginny enters to tell them all that food platters are coming in shortly. She bops Draco on the top of his head as she walks out, and he sneers at her playfully, getting one in turn as she exits again.

Ginny's family members sit there, speechless.

Even Harry stares at him.

Draco shuffles in his chair. “What?”

Ginny's brothers and father look to one another, uncertain of what to say, and Harry slowly smiles the slightest bit, sipping some butterbeer. “Guess that talk really _did_ go well the other night, hm?”

“Your ex and I are capable of civil conversation, Harry. That we may choose to harass one another now is simply for amusement's sake.”

“I know. I'm glad, babe.”

Draco views Percy across from him. “That evidence enough for you, Weasley?”

Percy scoffs, but it's with a hint of tired laughter.

The platters float in just as all the children run downstairs, and soon the room is absolutely _bursting_ with people and food and walled knickknacks getting scrunched to make room for more chairs. Scorpius sits next to him, Albus on Scorpius's other side with Rose.

Lily stops by Draco's chair and pokes him with a grin. Draco raises his arm to make room for her and looks Harry's daughter in the eye. “Hello, Lily.”

“Mr. Malfoy. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas to you, too,” he repeats, accepts her blushing hug around his neck, and watches her run around to sit near her grandfather and Hugo.

Molly Weasley sorts platters over the stacked tables and dotes on Scorpius the entire time, adoring his pale hair like Draco's and complimenting him on being so well dressed and mannered. Albus and Rose tease him the second their grandmother turns to speak with someone else, and Draco feels Harry's palm over his thigh again, centering him in the midst of all the energy and noise.

People calm enough to sit after drinks are gathered, and Scorpius tugs his left arm to show him the butterbeer with pride. Draco smiles at him, kisses his head, and freezes, looking over as James Potter pulls a sullen, quiet chair out and sits on the edge down the far right from him on the opposite side, next to Charlie Weasley. Ginny's down to his left somewhere at the end, but he can see her staring from his peripheral vision, and Harry tightens up with worry beside Draco.

Draco takes a larger sip of wine and sets his glass down, speaking calmly and pleasantly over the din as he says, “Hello, James.”

James doesn't even look at him. Just slides down more in his chair and messes with his fork as he waits for food. Draco sighs in frustration, even if he's thankful that the children next to him are too preoccupied to catch the failed exchange.

Harry, though, is another story. He sits up straighter and calls, softly, “James, Draco said hello to you. Won't you say hi?”

Harry's firstborn looks up only at his father, a layer of determined stoicism covering the youthful anger and confusion. His partner's breathing hitches with emotion, and Draco squeezes Harry's hand over his leg. Quickly he whispers, “Let it be, Harry.”

Ginny watches it all with intensity, clearly torn between changing chairs to sit by her son and comfort him but also understanding the teenager likely doesn't _want_ the attention on him from the entire room if she does.

And Charlie Weasley notes _all_ of it combined. He throws an arm about his nephew, then slides his nearly empty cup of adult blended eggnog over. “Try this. We won't tell your mum.”

A _hint_ of a smile crack's James's cover, and he reaches for the cup, sniffs it, and drinks a little, his eyes darting to Harry now and then in rebellious satisfaction.

Harry nods to Charlie, relieved but also concerned, and Draco feels a foot tap his under the table. Across the table Granger sits with Ron, both also seeming aware of something suddenly. They whisper to one another, and then Ron gives him an openly sympathetic expression, and Hermione taps Draco's foot with hers again, mouthing, “It'll be okay.”

Draco closes his eyes, trapped in the least likely situation he'd ever have expected in his _life_.

But even with a delighted son next to him, laughing children around, and the mostly jovial adults partaking of several delicious dishes of food, all he can think about is the one child still sipping the little remnants of eggnog, pretending that Draco doesn't exist.

  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [George will be in the story on a particular day.]  
> 


	54. c o q u e l i c o t

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [As the chapter headings don't let this story upload with sections, Christmas Day is divided into three parts.]
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

 

 

54.

 

c o q u e l i c o t 

(C h r i s t m a s,

p a r t   t h r e e)

 

 

It's half past five, and while adults clean up messes and a group of younger children are playing downstairs with presents and games and sharing after dinner sweets, Draco sits nervously in a tiny bedroom upstairs that once belonged to Ginny Weasley. Next to him on the day bed is Harry, so nervous and hopeful, and across from them both upon a small window seat is James, angled sideways to avoid looking at them with his arms about his bent knees.

And as the minutes of stretching silence grow eerie like the calm before a storm, Draco is both lost to the moment and found within its reality, much like Potter himself had become so long ago in his study. It's enough to continue his consideration of life as utterly baffling—the way it plays its cards with a protective hand, trails its strings into boon and trouble, and drops them to navigate emotional seas in the wake of loss and in the light of hope.

That very hope is in Harry's face as he takes a deep breath.

“James,” Harry tries, hands spread gently. “This is Draco Malfoy, my partner we've discussed.”

“And?” James Potter grunts, the first fucking word Draco's heard him say today.

His partner exhales shakily and takes Draco's fingers to twine with his. “Come on, son. I know we raised you with more manners than this. Can he not say hi to  _you_?”

James scowls to himself, but Draco sees the pain behind the barrier of frustration.

Harry chews his lower lip. “James, I'm not saying you have to be happy about this. I promise. You can be upset. I'm just...I'm  _asking_ you to give Draco a chance as a person in my life. Doesn't have to be right this second. I want you to think about it, okay?”

“ _Must_ I?” James questions, glaring out the window. “What's the point?”

“The point is that Draco  _isn't_ going away, no matter how long you'll feel like this. The point is that I love him, James, and he's now a very visible, very active part of my life. He'll be part of  _yours_  through me. He's a  _good_  man, and he's as worried about you as your mum and I are.”

“Like I believe that one,” the youth growls, eyes sliding to Draco  _once_ briefly before darting away again. “I don't  _want_ him in my life. I never asked for him. I want you and Mum and our  _family_. I want things to go back to normal.”

Draco locks his jaw, but his grey eyes are like softened steel—hard enough to withstand the cuts, yet soft enough to indicate no threats. He gets it. He  _really_ does.

Harry sighs, frustrated. “But you  _do_   _have_ us, James. You have me and your mum and all of us.”

“ _No_ , Dad. It's not the same.”

“I know it's not the same, but that  _doesn't_ invalidate us still being together here right  _now_. We're all here in this  _house_. We all love you, and we don't want to pressure you.” Harry's trembling travels through his fingers, and Draco gives them a soft squeeze to steady Potter. “I know you're still processing the divorce. I  _know_ , and I'm so sorry. Your mum and I have both told you our reasons for our choices, and I'll say it again—Draco isn't even the  _first_ complication in that. So please don't hate him for it. He had nothing to do with it that way, and I've explained so.”

“But you moved on fast enough, didn't you? What, two months after all those years? Before I was even  _born_?”

“Our emotional separation was...quiet...and longer ago than it seems to avoid disturbing you and your siblings as little as possible until your mum and I were  _sure_ that was what we would do. I told you  _this_ , too. Yes, we've been technically divorced for a short time, but emotionally...it's been much longer in ways. I know how this looks, but it's...it's a thing that's hard to understand right now, I guess.”

“How could you, though? Even if Mum wanted it, too, you just moved  _right_ on, and I'm supposed to be happy? You don't seem happier to me. You just seem more stressed. I know blokes in school who break up with a girlfriend one class and have a new one  _the next_ , and I  _never_ thought that my own  _dad_ would be like that!”

Harry takes the verbal slap, eyes closing behind the frames. Draco's blood simmers as he reigns himself in with tight control, as he witnesses the shaky resolve in James' gaze when he, too, sees his father hurting from those words and from the briefest flicker of perhaps being  _wrong_  somehow. Guilt pools in those young eyes, and it is frantically hidden behind a line of protective uncertainty.

“Firstly, your father  _isn't_ like those boys,” Draco slowly speaks, enunciating each word with precise diction to stay level at the insult's implications. “They haven't had deep feelings for someone almost half their lifetime. They are not adults trying to survive and keep their sanity and their families' happiness as buoyant as possible. They are foolish _children_ moving on whim and immature impatience. And secondly, of course all you see is stress. He's  _worried_ about you, James.”

James instantly struggles between retorting and hesitating with Harry clenching Draco's hand. The pain, the fear, the  _whatever_ it is wins out, though, and the boy snaps, “As if anything  _you_ say has meaning. I know who you are. I know what you've done to  _my dad_. You don't think I'm not  _worried_  about him? You think I'm a foolish kid, too, because maybe I don't like the idea of my dad dating his  _bully_?”

Well prepared for  _this_  route of conversation, Draco inhales, but Harry beats him to it, sounding more angry than Draco's ever  _heard_ Harry sound near children. “Look at me, James. Right  _now_.”

Glare to glare they meet, and Draco's gut twists, his conscience raking him over embers of mistakes and sickness of the lack of true freedom from them. James isn't the  _only_ one hiding guilt behind uncertainty anymore. But he is the only one not aware of cause and effect and the power of Lucius Malfoy.

“He bullied me,  _yes_. And you know what, James? I  _hurt him_ , too. No one ever hears that side of the story,” Harry whispers through grinding teeth, shocking his son. “He might have been an entitled brat because of his damn father, but  _he grew up_. He did the right thing, turned it around at the end of the War. He saved my life. And though I appreciate your concern for me, whatever happened between Draco and I in school is  _our business_. Mine and his. No one else's.”

Draco looks away, tense and silent.

James doesn't blink. He does nothing but stare at his father.

And Harry frowns deeply as he continues, “So any  _judgment_ of him for that is not for you to make. It is for me only. It was my life. It is in the past, and it is many years over with. And if I've forgiven him, and if he has forgiven me, then that is what's important.”

“Dad, I was just—”

“I taught you these truths since you were  _little_ , James, because I knew others would be selective and not understand,” Harry whispers, the anger fading rapidly into genuine disappointment he'd  _yet_ to show his son through all the pain. “You can be upset about me dating him, the pace of it, the divorce, all that—believe me, I get it—but the past isn't yours to bring up as a barrier. As genuine questions? Fine. I get that, too. But remember that my past is  _mine_. Give me that respect.”

“But what about the Mark?” James questions, less angry and more stubborn. More afraid and defensive. “He still has it. I saw it at dinner when he rolled his sleeve up to avoid the sauce. If he's so good now, why is  _that thing_ still on his arm, Dad?”

Harry barely has time to turn, worried, before Draco pulls his hand from his partner's slick grasp and forcefully rolls his sleeves up. James holds his distrustful expression steady, but the boy is rattled by the bareness presented as Draco holds his left forearm out between them.

“Babe,” Harry tries, but Draco shakes his head.

He exhales slowly. “This bothers you, does it?”

James scoffs. “ _Shouldn't_ it? I'm not some idiot. I know what it is.”

“Of course it should,” Draco agrees, surprising the lad. “Now tell me what you see.”

“The Dark Mark. You received it and became a Death Eater. A traitor helping Voldemort.”

Draco almost snickers. The name of the wizard that had utterly terrorized Draco's sleep and waking moments for years is said with apathy becoming of a boy refusing to give the bastard any due; it's said without the same fear for having grown without it weighing him down. The difference is almost beautiful to hear. Draco nods all the same. “Yes. The Dark Mark was given to the Death Eaters. But you know what I see when I look at this?”

James rolls his eyes. “A snake and a skull. Obviously. Something that will make people hate you, right?”

“No,” Draco says, voice soft and coiled, making James sit up warily. “I look upon this and see what others do not: A mistake, penitence, reminder of what can never be again. I see pain and loss...deaths I witnessed. I see my childish ego trying to vindicate itself and impress my blasted father. I see my own fear for my life, for my mother's, that drove me to bow rather than to stand far earlier than I should have. And even if I  _could_ remove this bloody thing, I wouldn't because it is my burden to carry. It's  _my_ burden, James, to remember. Always.”

Both Potters audibly inhale, Harry with concern and James with surprised unease.

Draco's jaw quivers, his eyes wet, and he doesn't shed a single fucking tear, doesn't  _allow_ any moisture to fall. He just holds James captive with his unblinking intensity. “Dislike me all you wish for my position in your father's life. I can understand it and take it. But  _do not_ presume to tell me my life and mistakes and think yourself righteous, James. You know  _not_ what you speak of involving my memories and pain, and it is a disservice to  _yourself_ to continue down that path with me...because I have  _faith_  that you are your father's son and that you are  _better_ than that, even with your anger at me for loving him and being in the way.”

James jerks his head away, his own moist eyes refusing anything to fall.

“I know it's not my name that's bothering you most, and I know it isn't this ink. I've been your age. I know deflection. It  _doesn't_ help. Be honest with us about what is  _truly_ hurting you and what we can do to possibly aid you. That's what your father needs—to know how to make things the  _slightest_ bit easier for you.”

“Draco,” Harry sighs, fingers patting right over that bared Mark with love. “Thank you for understanding.”

James quickly tries to huff and shrug off Draco's words. “I don't trust you acting like you care. I don't have to respect you, either. Dad's said so.”

“No,  _I've said_  you don't have to like him just because you think I may want you to do so.”

“ _Dad_.”

Draco clears his throat and holds their attentions once more. “You shouldn't be forced to trust me because  _trust_ is something one earns and proves worthy to receive. But  _respect_...is different. Respect can mean agreeing to disagree and still being kind. Respect is extended with hope until someone shows they are unworthy. I respect  _you_ , James. I know you're struggling. I have sympathy and concern, even if you don't believe me yet. I know I must  _earn_ your trust, and I plan on doing so somehow with time if you  _let_  me. But until then all I ask is for some polite respect—the same you'd grant anyone else—if not for me personally, then for your father's sake.”

Jarred by that entirely, James questions boldly, almost another young Harry without a scar daring him face to face. “Why you? Why are  _you_ so special?”

Draco can't help it. He laughs quietly and shrugs. “Hell if I know. Ask your father that.”

The  _smallest_ , briefest curve of James' lip rises and falls in surprise at the blunt honesty, lasting long enough for Draco to see. He considers his father again, resting on his hand at his sides on the seat. “Dad?”

Harry blushes and bumps his shoulder to Draco's. “He just...he...being near Draco is like remembering a part of myself I didn't know I'd forgotten. It's remembering and feeling whole somehow. Sounds mad, but that's...that's part of it. He makes me feel complete.”

Draco smiles at his love, undeterred by the way James shifts to view the window.

“Look, it's Christmas, and I want you to have a good rest of your holiday today and over break, okay?” Harry reminds James with patience. “Keep in mind I  _am_ planning an outing or two of you, me, Lily, and Al with Draco and Scorpius. I want us to have that time together, James... _all_ of us. We need to get to know one another a little better before you return to term—not just you and Draco, or your siblings and Draco...but his son and  _me_. I must earn  _Scorpius's_ trust, too. But even so? We aren't going to pressure you. We just want to spend  _time_ with you.”

Surprised, pregnant silence. James refuses to speak, avoiding their glances explicitly.

Sighs from two tired adults who then turn those glances to one another.

Harry's head hangs slightly, and his son's expression shifts from a bit more sullen to much more sad. James sniffs and wipes at his face. Finally James whispers, “Why can't it just be  _us_ , Dad? Why must they be part of anything?”

Harry sniffs, too. “Because our family is changing and growing. It's getting bigger, not smaller. It's just a little complicated to see that yet.”

The Gryffindor youth shudders across from him.  
  
Harry tries again, softly. "And there will alwaysbe time for  _us_. Just your siblings, you, and I. Just you and  _me_ , James. We will always make that time, too."  
  
James breaks, tears down his face that he quickly buries in the crook of his elbow.

Feeling entirely guilty for those tears, Draco rubs his exhausted, burning eyes and shoves to his feet, startling James a little. “I'll leave the pair of you alone. I should check on Scorpius. It's growing late anyway.”

“Babe, you don't have to—”

“It's fine, Harry. He needs you,” Draco assures him. He bends and kisses the jagged lightning bolt, pouring love into the touch as much as he can. Harry absorbs it, uses it to refill his energy as the bright green eyes lift up warmly. Draco catches the slightly uncomfortable curiosity that's settled over Harry's firstborn peeking over his elbow, and he inclines his head to James, keeping respectable distance without even the slightest pat of a touch. “I wish you to understand two things today, James, if you take little else from me—first, that I hope you keep an open mind if possible, and second, that I don't want false acceptance from you. If I must brave every test you'll lay before me, then I shall becauseI love your father...and also because your genuine acceptance would absolutely be worth it.”

Harry wipes his eyes. James looks away, thoughtful, but melancholic and moody nonetheless. Nervous. Wary. Confused.

And so Draco waves politely, knowing he  _must_ leave now with the overwhelming emotions washing over Harry's son, and he murmurs as he opens the door, “I regret any pain my presence has caused lately, and I genuinely wish you a Happy Christmas and a happier rest of your evening. Thank you for letting us come, Harry. Scorpius and Albus needed to see one another.”

“Babe,” Harry calls, throat bobbing. “You didn't...your presence isn't just a cause of pain, so please don't think that's all this has been lately, okay? It  _isn't_ all pain. I promise you that. I love you, and I'm  _glad_ you came through.”

“I know,” Draco smiles to calm Harry. “Love you, too, Harry. More than I could ever say.”

James looks up with wide eyes.

Draco shuts the door, shuddering with it behind him. He forces his legs to move carefully down the odd sets of stairs, and he easily tracks his son to a small sitting room where Albus directs Scorpius and Rose over some wizard's chess.

“Father! I've just won.” Scorpius peers over his shoulder at him as Draco grows closer.

“Great job,” Draco commends him, fingers brushing the soft pale head. “It's about time we went home.”

Albus's mouth twists with understanding disappointment, but he reaches over and hugs Scorpius.

Ron claps a hand over his shoulder. “Don't forget your leftovers, mate. Mum's got it all ready in the kitchen. Seriously, you forget, she'll go mental, and  _I'll_ be through delivering them at some ridiculous hour to calm her down.”

Draco speaks amicably through his exhaustion. “Thanks, Weasley.”

“Yeah. Happy Christmas.”

“To you as well. Scorpius, meet me near the Floo when you're ready.”

“Yes, Father.”

Draco takes Ron's advice and strolls into the kitchen. Only one of the three women inside notices him enter the doorway at first: Ginny. Her blue eyes immediately hone onto him as he nods, and she beckons him to her side.

“They're talking,” Draco tells her. “I listened. Tried speaking, giving him perspective. Hopefully we've given him something to think about.”

They're both aware of Granger and Molly Weasley nearby hearing him speak. The two hold their breath with Molly clearly worried at first.

Ginny exhales calmly and debates only a moment; she grabs a striped holiday chocolate from a massive pile on a counter and shoves it into his palm. “Thanks, Malfoy,” she whispers and steps through the doorway behind him.

Draco raises a brow as he stares at the food in his hand, and Granger steps closer to pat his shoulder.

Tired and still waiting for the thumping steps of his son to enter behind him, he carefully takes a bite, savors it, and then finishes the chocolate with its bit of peppermint inside.

The two Gryffindor women each consider him a moment...

...where Granger tells him softly once more that it'll all be okay somehow, someday...

...and Molly smiles reassuringly, as if that worry she'd held inside about Draco and Ginny and their two known tempers has all but gone away.

  
  
  
  



	55. s i n o p i a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

  
  


 

55.

 

s i n o p i a

 

 

He hasn't been in here since he came for the hat.

He hasn't sat in here, stood in here, bled in here from his heart.

Yet here he sits now, upon the edge of her bed whilst their son sleeps across the hall.

Draco has been confronting a new awareness as the smell of Harry has faded from his other pillow. He's noticed its reduction since Harry had last slept over before Scorpius's return, and as of tonight, he is _truly_ struggling to fall asleep alone.

He'd lain there in bed for hours, pondering his son's question from before, that curiosity as to why he'd _chosen_ to sleep alone willingly all these years. Then, after actually taking a sip from his Dreamless Sleep stash in his desperation to sleep, he mysteriously felt the urge to come _here_ in his restlessness.

So now he sits here alone in candlelight in her room.

And now he stands here, pushing back to his feet with the urge to move around still pulsing through his legs like the desire of magic to be spent.

And yet he wonders if he must _bleed_ here, too, bleed out whatever has got him prowling like a nocturnal snake on the hunt, listless with its movements as he circles around her bed, hands grasping the canopy supports as he goes.

He almost feels guilty. Perhaps that's why he cannot sit still.

Draco misses that scent, and he feels horrid for it because it's a mere proxy.

He misses the body that goes along _with_ it, aches for the heat and touch of his partner, the soft caresses of lips to his shoulder and neck, the tender body language between them. He misses waking to breath against his hair, to warmth at his back, to a familiar groin against his bum.

But Harry's only letter since Christmas simply mentions struggle of keeping James at the forefront, of getting his son calm and peaceful again before James retreats once more, ebbing and flowing like a broken shore line lost to the moon and its own tide. Potter's best and worst traits combine and triple in strength in his role of fatherhood, and there is little Draco can do to help but listen.

There is little Draco knows to do about life's splendor of complication.

He looks about at the shadows cast by the candle, at the shapes on the walls and the angles of light dancing over her closet and vanity. He sits down upon the chair before it, mind recalling the scent of her perfume, a smell with a different effect to his state of mind. He thinks of all the words he read to her here, of all the soft laughter broken by coughs of blood, and it's as he sees the red on his handkerchief in his memories that it all comes together.

Red blood leads to defying red lips, and red lips lead to a brush and mirror, and a mirror leads to a girl he knows, a girl waiting for something as special as her brother's lamp.

Draco's breath heaves in his chest as he reaches in the staggering shadow light.

He picks up the silver hand mirror, looks it over and feels its weight in his palm. A quick flip shows him his reflection obscured partly in the dark, and what is visible beyond the line is tired, but understanding. Missing Harry, but wondering if even the most random moments of life—of just a pillow losing its fucking scent—are tied to bigger moments, little stones to bigger stones, little threads to the red string.

Draco stands one last time in Astoria's bedroom.

He touches her vanity with his empty fingers, runs his fingertips over brushes, and the restlessness fades as if it was never there.

Exhausted, he blows out the candle and crosses the hall. Checks on his son, kisses his sleeping head, and tucks the blankets up higher for warmth. Tries not to fumble down the stairs with the mirror in his hand so precious and full of double the worth it once held in his mind.

When he gets to his study, he pulls out Astoria's box of letters.

The parchments of Harry's writing, confessions and love, tumble to his desk and get swept into his middle drawer. The mirror is sat inside the box gently, as if laying it to rest.

And just before Draco passes out there in his study's chair, he has enough energy left in him to tear a piece of parchment from one of his ledgers, grab his quill, and write his message for Lily Luna Potter—that when life feels uncertain, she has only to look upon the mirror of courage he's come to know.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [After seven entirely different chapters over several days, I finally got out what I need to say.]


	56. t a n g e r i n e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

 

56.

 

t a n g e r i n e

 

 

Hours pass quietly and peacefully with the serious dusting of powdery snow threatening to swallow the entire garden. It sweeps over Godric's Hollow with mild to blistery winds, and it cuddles about Draco's property just the same.

The house remains cozy despite the wonderland on the other side of the doors, the fires heating their chilled bones after laughing romps out into the vast whiteness. And yet, despite that coziness keeping him nice and sedated like an emotional cup of tea, he knows it's all only temporary.

As if the need to prove himself worthy to Harry's firstborn isn't pressuring enough, a few days after Christmas, he sits across the table in Harry's flat, well aware of James Sirius Potter practically staring a hole through him. It's not exactly the way he'd hoped the early afternoon would go ever since Harry had come through the Floo with the invitation for he and Scorpius. He expected nothing to be smooth, nothing to be easy or entirely relaxed, and honestly, Draco can't even blame James for still being frustrated and uncomfortable around him. It's why he's _sat_ there, silent and aware of that stare for a while now, worried about the one smaller hanging thread seeming so lost with itself.

With lunch bought and divvied up, Albus and Scorpius decide to eat in the living room inside a blanket fort Harry's boys have built over the holiday break. Their soft chatter can be heard in the silent kitchenette where Lily sits to Draco's right, eating as quietly as he. Harry sighs to his left, green eyes darting between his eldest and Draco.

Draco raises his gaze to clash with James' for a moment, and the teenager meets him unwaveringly, second for second, clearly debating something in the tense atmosphere.

Harry swallows some of his sandwich down and shakes his head. “C'mon. Let's have a good lunch, okay? We're going to Fortescue's after for dessert.”

“What about the other sweets shop?” Lily questions, her eyes sliding up to Draco's next to her. “The one with the chocolates?”

He winks. “Suppose we can make a stop.”

Lily smiles. “For some of the coconut with rum?”

“If you'd like. They cherry is delicious, too, you know.”

James pokes a spoon amongst some beans on his plate. “So you'll be buying our affection, then. Makes sense. I heard your dad bought your way onto Slytherin's team once.”

Draco winces at his own memories, and Harry rubs his face, his glasses lifting off in his free hand. “James, Draco isn't _buying_ your approval. Or Lily's or Al's. He bought her a chocolate a long while ago when we happened to see one another in the shop, and he's gotten her some since when she's been ill as a gift.”

Lily grumbles at her brother, “Yeah! It's a thing for us, okay?”

“A thing for you,” James observes with a false impressed consideration. “I see.”  
  
Lily notices his words with more mature awareness than most might credit her at her age, and Draco keeps his calm, not rising to the bait for a change. James appears almost _guilty_ when he doesn't, and Draco frowns, not expecting it.

They finish their sandwiches with some minor discussion of the continued heaviness of the weather, Draco mentioning the icy woods near his home. Scorpius nods when he and Albus reappear with their empty plates and cups.

“Hopefully it'll lighten up soon out there. Well, out away from where we are,” Harry hopes, glancing over he and Scorpius. “Don't want you freezing.”

“We'll be fine, Potter.”

“Okay. But if you need anything, you know to come through.”

Draco takes Harry's free hand over the table, catching the children's responses through his peripheral—Lily smiles, Albus and Scorpius share a tiny shy look, and James turns his chair the other direction subtly. Draco tries to ignore the dismissal feeling of the last reaction, keeping his focus upon Harry's handsome face as he squeezes their fingers. “We know, Harry. Thank you.”

“Of course, Draco,” his partner replies, warm and loving as usual with a smile at Scorpius, too. “Get anymore time on your broom before the storm?”

Scorpius waves his hand. “A little. Father was worried about the winds.”

“For good reason. I've experienced some serious winds on a broom before. It gets dangerous.”

“Yeah. And there was the snow, too. Got harder to see, even with goggles.”

Harry looks Scorpius over as if the pale haired boy were yet another of his own brood, and he murmurs, “Just be careful whenever you feel it lets up.”

Draco smiles to himself, pleased with that care in his love's voice and the warmth of the fingers pressuring against his own intently, too.

“Maybe it'll calm down enough to go flying before New Year's,” Albus suggests, elbowing Scorpius. “I could come over, maybe, if that's okay.”

Scorpius looks right to Draco, and Draco nods, much to both boys' excitement.

“Everyone finished?” Harry asks, glancing around the plates. He pauses over James' spot, concerned as half of the food there lies untouched. “Not hungry, James?”

James now stares out the doorway behind his brother. “No.”

Draco rubs Harry's knuckles with his thumb. “Perhaps you wished for something else. We can walk the Alley and find something, if you'd like.”

The shrug keeps his attempt to bridge at bay, a silent version of James' curt words of late and more in line with the start of his quieter phase of dealing with things. Back and forth, like Harry's letter confessed, the moods acting up now just like Ginny herself had mentioned to Draco and just as he'd witnessed himself on Christmas Day.

Harry slides his chair back, the sound dragging Draco from his thoughts, and he takes the plates to the sink. “Then let's get ready. Coats on, kids. It's chilly out there.”

Albus, Lily, and Scorpius all run for the door, debating what to have for dessert as they grab for coats and boots between them. And Draco and Harry wait as James doesn't move a single muscle.

“James,” Harry urges softly from the sink and counter. “C'mon.”

“I don't want anything,” his son retorts, still staring elsewhere. “I'll stay here.”

“Well, it would do you some good to have fun. We can go by Uncle George's, see if he's got anything new.”

“No thanks.”

“That's a first. You love going in there.”

James shrugs that wall up again, even higher. Draco wants to put his face in his hands, but he doesn't.

In a way the shut out sensation almost feels karmic. He wonders if this struggle is what Harry felt with __his__ own walls over the summer and into the fall, or even before then...if Astoria felt like putting her face into her hands occasionally, too. And with that thought, he knows that nothing can bring down walls as such but the person themselves, and if his took __years__ to crumble, how long might it take James to be free? Is there anything he can even do with that knowledge for Harry's son?

Harry runs the sink for a moment, then stops the tap, hands fisting over the basin's edges. “James, please. Don't be stubborn. Just come with us.”

“It's fine, Dad. Just don't want to. Go on.”

“I'm not going without you.”

“ _Dad_.”

Harry steps closer, bending slightly with a hand on his son's shoulder. “James, I don't want to leave you behind. I want to spend time with everybody.”

“Maybe I don't want to right now, okay? Just leave me alone,” James grunts, yanks his shoulder free of Harry's grasp, and storms out through the kitchenette and into the living room, rounding the corner no doubt for his shared bedroom with Albus. The other three kids watch him go, their discussion cutting itself off as each one of them looks to Harry awkwardly.

Harry stays bent, his hand still hovering and slowly closing into a fist.

Draco pushes to his feet and steps around behind Harry. His arms slide about his love's abdomen, and he pulls Harry upright with a kiss to his neck. Draco rests his brow to Harry's head with a sigh.

“Do I give him space, or do I push him? I don't know,” Harry mumbles with a small sound of frustration. “He shoves me away and pulls me back constantly now. I can't figure out if I'm helping or not, babe.”

“I don't know, Harry,” Draco admits, hating feeling a bit helpless to his partner. “I know why you're afraid to leave him be, but it's possible he genuinely wants space. Don't you remember being his age?”

Harry groans. “Yeah. Can't believe he's this old sometimes.”

Draco presses his cheek to Harry's, both of them noticing Scorpius pat Albus on the shoulder reassuringly through the archway. Lily looks conflicted, like she wants to chase after her big brother and yet restrains herself from doing so.

Harry angles his head and gives Draco a brief peck to the cheek. “I'll go see if I can talk him 'round. Get your coat, Draco.”

“Harry, if you'd rather we go home, it's fine. Albus can come through if he wishes.”

“No. I know this is a lot, but he'll also never learn anything if he keeps pulling away,” Harry argues, stepping out of Draco's arms and putting his foot down physically and metaphorically. “He'll go back to school, not see us together or experience things like this, and it'll repeat worse in the spring after term. I'm not asking him to get over everything right now. I'm just asking him to eat lunch and relax a little. Besides, the kids really wanted to get dessert. I won't take that away from _them_ , either.”

Draco licks over his lower lip in thought, then snags Harry's wrist as Potter starts to move.

Harry glances backward. “What?”

“Stay here with him if you want, and we can bring you something,” Draco suggests, trying to find compromise without pushing too much. “It's still...heavy. I get it. I'd rather you be sure he's all right.”

He can see the uncertainty in Harry; he's easily a witness to the frustration, the longing, the need for Harry to relax for himself as well, and it's obvious that Harry's worn out from constantly being on edge to support so many people.

“I'll take the younger kids. What would the pair of you like?”

“Bring back whatever, Draco,” Harry answers, more assured. He gives Draco a small, thankful smile, and turns for a full kiss, the effect like a rain to the parched desert of Draco's heart.

Draco kisses him tastefully, and he watches Harry's back as he steps for the bedrooms.

“Father?” Scorpius asks quietly.

Draco clears his head and slips into his coat by the door. “Come, you three. Let's grab some sweets to bring back.”

The kids walk outside and to the steps with less excitement than they'd had. Draco hates every second that he sees of Albus Potter seeming more withdrawn by Scorpius's side. He grows more frustrated and yet more determined with the sound of each heavy step Lily takes down the stairs.

He reaches, surprising her, and puts his arm around her, holding her close as the cold wind and bit of snow whisks against their faces from the connecting walk to the Alley itself. Draco steps out first, checking the cross traffic of shoppers, and he gestures down the way to Fortescue's place. “We will stop there last as it is closer and will have possibly melting dishes. Chocolates first. Stay close.”

The kids huddle around him as people babble and bonk off of one another over the cobblestones. Old witches cackle over some new matching buckles on their boots, a pair of wizards discusses the continual drifting of snowflakes and puff on their pipes, and Draco guides the kids through them and more down the street.

They get to the chocolate shop quickly, thankfully, and he gets the door open against the wind, ushering them inside. Lily goes for the counter first thing, her gloved hands spread over the glass and a smile _finally_ back on her mouth as she eyes all the chocolates and caramels inside. Albus and Scorpius dart down aisles to the shaped candies and Chocolate Frog stocks.

The witch behind the counter waves him over, surprised to see him. It _has_ been sometime.

Draco stands next to Lily as she counts off new types of swirled pieces aloud, and for a second in his mind he feels the warm hand that had brushed his lower back, feels Potter standing next to him with a girl he'd yet to know and Astoria's parchment in Harry's pocket.

Lily makes her choices, wondering aloud what James might enjoy.

“How about the sampler, Lily? He can pick from many that way.”

“Yes, but I won't get the coconut with rum in that variety.”

“You can share some of mine,” he assures her, nodding to the witch for his usual box.

She grins at him and pulls out trays of chocolates, fixes up the sampler package and throws in extra pieces of the coconut with rum and a wink that Lily doesn't see.

Draco smiles to himself, more comfortable now as Lily continues to debate a new taste and the boys laugh a few rows away over some googly-eyed candy shaped fish. It takes a few minutes for them to decide, but the counter quickly fills with boxes of chocolates and some gummy candies, two large snake pieces picked out by the boys to try.

Lily volunteers to carry the bag with the three small packages inside, and they push back out into the cold, this time with less hesitation and less frustration and instead with more excitement. The rush of the wind shoves them forward now back to Fortescue's, the boys holding still at times on the walk to see how far they can trail before their weight stops them.

Some dips and creams are considered in the second shop, and Lily picks out Harry's favorite tarts as Albus orders scoops of some rich ice cream preferred by James. Draco pays for the purchases again, and they dash, all laughing to themselves, as the wind pushes them sideways and they try to break through the side alley nearby.

Albus and Scorpius pound up the stairs with care of the purchases, even in their renewed gusto. Lily steps up with thumps echoing after them on the wood, with something in her expression that Draco instinctively knows stems from Ginny Weasley's personal courage.

He wonders as they shake snow off their coats and get inside the flat just what Lily needs that bit of courage for, and his answer comes to him when they find James and Harry sitting closely on the couch, James embarrassedly pulling out of Harry's tight hug. Lily runs over after kicking off her boots. She sets her bag down gently, goes through it, and puts the bigger variety sampler upon her brother's lap as Scorpius and Albus take the other bags into the kitchenette to separate out.

With firm eyes she says, “Now you're gonna try one, and you're gonna have one you like, and then the chocolates will be _your_ thing, too. Got it, James?”

James doesn't laugh at his sister's seriousness over chocolate. He knows what she means. “Yeah, Lily. I get it. What's in here?”

“Lots of kinds. I got different ones for you to try.”

“I see.”

“Wait! There's extras. The coconut with rum!” Lily spins, wide eyed. “Mr. Malfoy! Did she mean to do that?”

Draco chuckles. “Yes.”

Lily grabs one and immediately tries to poke James on the mouth with it. “Eat it! It's so good.”

“Lily! Just hang on, sheesh,” her brother grunts, but there's a smile forming on his lips as he takes the _tiniest_ of bites to play with her. When she expectedly demands he take a bigger one, he tosses the entire piece into his mouth, chews, and raises his brows. “Hey. That's...actually really good.”

“I _told_ you. So stop being mean and listen from now on, okay?”

The smirk on her brother's lips disappears into something more solemn, and he tugs Lily up next to him, an arm around her shoulders with mild guilt and brotherly love. “What...next?”  
  
“Mm, you try this dark one, and I'll try the white chocolate.”

Harry relaxes and smiles at his daughter and son cuddled together on the sofa with a box of chocolates, murmuring to each other and taking their bites.

Something inside Draco's chest eases as he looks at the three of them content and comfortable. Something unwinds like a knot undoing itself. And as he turns, stepping for the kitchenette softly, his own anxiousness finally begins to melt a little bit away while his back keeps him from seeing the confused emotions in the young eyes staring at him yet again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Doing mild editing over past chapters for many days now and will be continuing to tweak light word choice/stylistic choice/grammar moments. Outline from here to the end is done, and some of the chapters are written out of order. Therein is the update issue--playing catch up between the gaps atop some serious life problems. Thanks for reading.]


	57. f a w n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

 

 

57.

 

f a w n

 

 

The afternoon before New Year's Eve finds Draco at the back window of his study.

Snow stopped falling the night before. The ice thinned in the woods. The sun finally decided to show after the days of blustery storms. This, of course, led to Floo exchanges, and _those_ visits led to a busy day of laughter, trials of flight and errors of wind, and the repetitive pleading of _one more time_ from two very happy children.

He smiles as the broom lands itself and the boys switch again, just as they had this morning.

After sitting on the swing keeping them warm with charms, he'd made them break for lunch, allowing them back out with their new warming charms whilst planning to watch at the window as he tidied, leaving them with a simple, “Do _not_ make me regret this.”

He's been an eager boy with a broom and a friend to share in showing it off.

He understands.

But he's also a father, even if he does recall some of his own childhood whims fondly.

Between keeping an eye on the clock and a watch on the boys every other minute or so, almost twenty minutes pass, and Draco finds he dislikes the way Scorpius begins to land the broom after using it last. With the clock's chime, he pushes to his feet and walks to the back door, swinging it open enough to see Scorpius hovering on the broom, the toes of his boots touching the ground as Albus speaks with him.

“Both of you, inside. Time for tea. You've flown enough today.”

“Um, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco frowns at the hesitance in Albus's tone, and then he sees Scorpius's shudder. Coatless and in his damn house slippers, Draco fearfully stomps the few cold steps outside and looks his disoriented son over. His disappointment hits his stomach as he registers the problem. “What did I tell you _not_ to do, Scorpius?”

“F-Fly too high.”

“And what did you do?”

“F-Flew too h-high.”

“Get off the broom. Albus, take it.”

“Sorry,” Albus murmurs, hand stretched as Scorpius climbs off it stiffly.

Draco takes hold of Scorpius's shoulders and marches his son inside, kicking off his wet soled slippers to sit on the floor by the fire; he hears Albus dusting the broom off outside before coming in and shutting the door, mumbling about taking it upstairs after hanging his robes up. Quickly Draco examines his son as Scorpius settles beside him by removing his goggles and hat. He checks his cheeks for windburn or flecks of ice, and thankfully he finds none. Just mild haziness in Scorpius's awareness.

His rapid heart finally calms down.

Albus runs up the stairs with the broom, the _thump, thump_ ironically grounding somehow.

“Are you harmed?”

“Mm mm. Just cold.”

Draco pulls his chilled child to his chest and grunts, “You disobeyed me.”

“Hadn't meant to. A bird swooped at me, and I went up to avoid it,” Scorpius tells him with a shiver. “I think I got near its nest by the tree line.”

“You should have flown closer to the house, then. Albus could have scared it off.”

“Wasn't thinking I guess.”

“Why were you that far out to begin with, son? You're not supposed to be.”

“Just...flying. Sorry.”

Draco sighs, then sees Albus slowly trudge back downstairs looking a bit ashamed. “And you?”

Albus stares at the floor. “We wanted to...dare each other to go farther out and come back. I dared him to go that far. It's my fault.”

“Albus!” Scorpius calls protectively.

The boys lock stubborn eyes, grey and green, both trying to help the other and lost to the paths they take. It's a familiar look. It's one he's seen in his memories of the War, with the same grey and green.

Draco rubs his hand over Scorpius's hair. “Go take a shower. Let the water heat you up, but don't set it too hot.”

Scorpius pushes away enough to look at him. “Father, it's my fault. I flew that far.”

“I'm aware. No more flying for the day.”

“Sorry,” Scorpius replies, a bit mournful, and hugs him about the neck before rising to stand.

“Your robe should be on the back of the door,” Draco reminds him, grey eyes sliding to the nervous child sitting on his stairs. Scorpius gives His Friend Albus a wave of consolation and shuts the bathroom door behind him. Draco rises and moves for the couch. One finger beckons Harry's son forward. “Come.”

He almost breaks his stern expression with a smile as Albus slowly walks to him, ashamed and nervous. Draco pats the couch cushion, and the boy sits down, eyes on his hands over his lap.

Instead of yelling, Draco hums.

Instead of waving an angry finger, Draco brushes his palm over Albus's brow.

Albus stares out the corner of his vision at him, shocked.

“You're cool as well,” Draco grumbles, and with his wand, spells a blanket from across the room to cover the boy. He carefully tucks it about Albus, fluffing some of it near his neck and ears.

“Mr. Malfoy?” Albus asks, perplexed. “Am I in troub—”  
  
“No, Albus.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I've got to put the kettle on. Just stay here and keep warm, mm?”

“Okay....”

Draco wanders into the kitchen, feeling the curious green eyes upon him.

Albus Potter lasts all of two minutes before padding his way into the kitchen with the blanket wrapped about his shoulders. “Mr. Malfoy, you're sure I'm not in trouble?”

“Yes, I'm sure,” Draco replies honestly, grabbing cups and readying tea.

Albus maneuvers to his side. “But...why not? You're upset with Scorpius.”

“Because I told him precisely not to do something, and he did. What's worse, he timed it when he saw I wasn't at the window for the moment. He landed as I looked again.”

“But I—”

“Did you _make_ him do it with your wand? No? Then he chose to, Albus. A dare isn't a binding magical contract, for Merlin's sake, though I suppose for boyhood ego it might be.”

“But, Mr. Malfoy, it's my fault.”

Draco turns, waiting for the water to finish, and calmly states, “He will thaw out in the shower, his bit of cold dizziness shall be his punishment, and then he will have his tea and be fine. He knows to listen from now on. He understands the experience isn't pleasant, and that I've warned him for a reason.”

“Yeah, but he wouldn't have broken your rule if I hadn't dared him in the first place.”

“Maybe, maybe not. He's a curious child, able to get into trouble all on his own.”

“Well...yeah. I'm still sorry, though. I broke rules, too, so....”

“Yes, and you've given me apology as he has. Albus, you're standing here punishing yourself without me telling you to do so. You already know what's been done, you regret it and worry, and you won't do it again. What, then, is there for me to be angry about? To punish you over? Either of you? You've learned the lesson and know my disappointment. And if the pair of you are safe and remorseful, then I can let it go.”

Albus's lips part, and his brows rise.

He may have certainly taken a longer route to maturity than most, but he arrived with well earned knowledge. And he's aware of Albus's many _new_ reasons to struggle with approving _of_ and approval _from_ Draco himself. Draco reaches and pats him on the shoulder, murmuring, “Sometimes it is experience itself that teaches us and not simply the redistributed anger of our parents.”

“But he could have been hurt by the bird.”

“Yes, he could have. Had he, we'd be having a different talk, and he wouldn't touch that broom again until he took it back to school with him to fly there,” Draco drawls, but his eyes are soft and kind. “But he wasn't harmed outside of his own foolishness, and you told me the truth when he obviously was protecting you. Now relax. I don't think less of either of you for being children.”

Albus exhales with relief, but he stays quiet as Draco lets go of him and moves to handle the kettle in the silent room. Another set of hands help him carry cups and saucers to the dining table without him requesting it, and they also aid him in bringing out a plate of sandwiches left over from lunch.

They sit, quietly sipping with Albus trying to figure him out and Draco continuing to mystify the charming boy in a circle of mutual, unspoken hope. Draco tries to find something to say, something to put Albus a little more at ease with reassurance, and he smirks as the memory blooms all too clear.

“Know something?”

“What?”

“Once, in my first year at Hogwarts, I dared your father in a similar fashion. And he fell for it, too. My dare wasn't friendly. You see, I'd stolen another boy's remembrall and thrown it, and your father, a little lion all his days, took off like an angry, righteous Gryffindor after it. His first time _upon a broom_ , and he perfectly flew after a speeding glass ball, caught it, and flipped upright without hitting a window on a tower.”

Albus gapes. “Seriously?”

“Yes. My point is, Albus, you're not the only boy to ever dare another and almost get someone hurt. You're just better than I for owning up to it at the time. I _appreciate_ you being honest,” Draco assures him. “Telling the truth is important, but as a father and a grown adult, I've learned that children are _children_ and, as such, they will often get into some form of trouble or earn some scrapes. They make mistakes, some _far_ more serious than others. And hopefully through life, family, and experience, they _learn_ , too.”

Both glance through the doorway when they hear Scorpius emerge out of the bathroom. He comes over in his dark emerald robe, pale hair adorably spiked all about his head from the towel rubbing he's giving it.

Draco raises his left brow and waits patiently.

Scorpius views him shyly.

“Well,” he wonders, “have you thawed?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Have you words?”

“Yes. I won't fly that far out again. Or that high. I'm sorry, Father.”

“Then dress and have your tea,” Draco tells him, satisfied. “You understand that wasn't even the _first_ time you've nearly given me a heart attack on that bloody broom already?”

Scorpius tries not to laugh at Draco's playful scrunched up squint. “Mm hm.”

Draco holds his tea under his nose, still squinting. “Mm _hm_.”

Albus sits his cup down and glances over Scorpius. “You're okay? No scratches or anything?”

Scorpius shakes his head. “Nope. My broom's too fast.”

“Good,” Albus whispers, then looks away, warm through the face. “I was worried.”

Scorpius reddens just the same, a hand on the back of his robe's collar. “I know, Albus. It's okay.”

Draco says nothing, comforted by the exchange. All this time with the pair of them. From Scorpius's curiosity of Albus in the shop to the first letter of thrilled relief to have a friend, and _definitely_ since those powerful, protective green eyes after the funeral, all this time it's  _he_ who has been comforted more than they could know.  
  
He situates himself back inside his study after finishing his tea, mind lost over that precious brotherly bond, and Scorpius follows him, informing him the boys will be upstairs playing. He nods, and his son gives him a smile and waves before vanishing from sight.

As Draco stares at the empty spot for a minute or two after, he contemplates that smile, curious if the spark of a growing maturity in it is all he's going to start seeing in the coming years...and if, with its presence free of his grandfather's poison, Scorpius will mature exactly as he should.

He considers when his own spark had begun to show.  
  
He remembers the tower. The Headmaster. How it had felt too late.

The panic starts again, and suddenly he can't breathe....  
  
And then he comes aware, safe and calming, to the beautiful sound of two boys laughing.

 

  


 


	58. g o l d e n r o d

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

58.

 

g o l d e n r o d

 

  
The next morning he sits up in bed, hopeful and inspired from passionate dreams.

The closeness in them, the sensations and desire cannot stop floating through his mind.

He shares a lunch with Scorpius and an excitable Pansy chatting about her plan to attend some party tonight. His son he can fool with his slightly daydreamy expression, but his dear friend he cannot, and he endures her _many_ terrible looks and soft, hissed questions about what _his night_ might get up to before he gives her a loving shove into the Floo.

He's not _sure_ where his night will go. But his instincts know he dreamed passion for a reason.

Albus pops through in the afternoon holding a scarf bearing his mother's team's logo, stating they're off to see a special match to support Ginny. Harry's son looks up at him with anxious, hopeful eyes after handing Scorpius the scarf as a gift. “Mr. Malfoy? Could...Scorpius come, too? James is bringing some of his friends, and so is Lily. Mum said Scorpius could stay over with us if he wants to tonight.”

“Where's your father?” Draco questions, surprised that Albus is alone.

“Work. Someone wanted him in on something. So it's just all of us going with Mum, Aunt 'Mione and Uncle Ron, Rose and Hugo, too. Mum's playing a special scrimmage, and it's _always_ fun.”

Draco looks over his eager son's big eyes growing only larger with each wild gesture from Albus's nervous hands, and he takes a breath. It's time, really. It's time to continue giving more by controlling less of his son's very sheltered life.

“Scorpius,” he speaks, voice immediately cutting through the boys' excitement.

“Yes, Father?”

“Pack a small bag for the night. I'll get you some coin.”

Scorpius grins, bounds into him with a hug, and runs for the stairs, His Friend Albus hot on his heels. Their voices echo over the stairs, and Draco's heart feels lighter already despite his slight discomfort.

It isn't that he doesn't trust Ginny or that he isn't beyond grateful for her kindness to his son.

It's that...this is new. Everything...since summer. It's all still _new_.

The boys' laughter swells above him as he ducks into the study to prepare a pouch of galleons for food and souvenirs, and when Scorpius spurs down the stairs as rapidly as he went up them, the following thuds of Albus after him make Draco smirk to himself.

He holds the leather pouch out, nodding as his son takes it carefully. “Be wise. Be safe.”

“You're sure, Father?” Scorpius asks him, young concern in his eyes now. “What about you? You'll be alone.”

Albus blushes as his mouth twists to the side behind Scorpius. “Ah, _Dad_ said he'd be by later when he was done. Maybe an hour? He said to say he misses you.”

Draco slowly smiles as Albus does opposite him. “I miss him, too.”

Scorpius looks between them, and then he takes Draco's side in a tight, determined hug. “I'll be safe, promise. You have fun, too, Father.”

“Floo home in the morning, please. After you have breakfast.”

“Okay. I will.”

“And thank Ginny for offering for you to come along and stay. Thank her for...me, too.”

“Absolutely.”

“Scorpius,” Draco murmurs, bending slightly to eye him levelly. “Have _fun_.”

A beautiful smile encapsulates Scorpius's face, and arms lurch about Draco's neck for a long moment, holding on tightly enough that even Draco's heart feels the pressure wrapping about it, too. Draco squeezes back, all the love inside of him telling him it'll be fine. His son will have fun and be safe without him near.

“Love you, Father,” Scorpius whispers into his ear.

“And I love you,” Draco tells him in turn, hand patting his back. “Enjoy your night.”

“I'll keep an eye on him,” Albus gratefully says. “We have our own box and everything.”

Draco smirks at him, an _mm hm_ in his eyes, and as Albus starts to think of the prior afternoon, he gasps, “No dares, I swear.”

“I believe you, Albus. Relax. I'm teasing.”

“Okay.” Albus looks him up and down, swallows, and awkwardly hugs his side. “See you 'round, Mr. Malfoy!”

Draco hugs the boy, holding him with one arm before Albus can immediately jump away in embarrassment, and Scorpius smiles as his friend relaxes for a few seconds, accepting the acceptance given to him much the way Draco had Harry's hug in the garden long ago. “You can call me just Draco, you know. It's all right.”

“I...see. Oh.”

He nods as they part, waving as the boys dash to the Floo. A blushing Albus goes first so Scorpius can see what to do, and his son gives him one final hug and smile before disappearing through the green flames.

Alone in the house, he takes a glance at the clock and decides to change in case Harry shows soon. He slips his green jumper matching Harry's eyes over his thinner shirt, goes for his tighter trousers, and shaves the bit of stubble from his jaw. A hand waves through his hair, tousling it sexy.

And then he waits. For two. Silent. Hours.

The bottle of wine he's been chilling still sits in its ice bucket, and the snacks he'd prepared out of boredom he's started to eat on his own.

Brows drawn down, Draco shoves his chair back and looks to his big clock again, the one always so loudly tracking the seconds of his life.

“Where _is_ he?” he wonders and then rolls his eyes knowing precisely how ridiculous anything Ministry related can be regardless of fucking department.

An idea hits him. A very sexual, very emotional, very _splendid_ idea.

He covers the plate, grabs the wine, puts on his coat, and slings a bag of Harry's Christmas gifts over his shoulder. He exits through his Floo into the Leaky Cauldron, making his way past some surprised tavern goers outside and to the Ministry through a safe, used route.

It takes him a little while to end up in the Auror department, and when he does he finds a few younger Aurors running about, talking and carrying paperwork and wands. He strides to the front desk, and with the witch who'd sassed him missing, he calls out to one of the passing workers, “You there.”

“Yes?” The young witch asks, startled.

“Is Potter still here for some emergency?”

“Um,” the witch begins, nervous. “We're not supposed to—”

The wizard with her gasps. “Wait, are _you_ Draco Malfoy? He said you might come by.”

“Oh, _did_ he?”

“Yep. But ah...can you...prove you're....”

Draco snorts. “What, shall I roll my sleeve? Or will you believe me when I say I am whom I am, and that there is no man alive who would dare wish to claim my name but me?”

The wizard grins, embarrassed. “Sorry, sir. It's, ah...you know. Protocol and all.”

The witch finally relaxes and nods. “He's still in his office, sir. We'll get him. Please wait here.”

“I will not. He's kept me waiting long enough. Two bloody hours, the _nerve_.”

Draco swishes past them in his gorgeous new coat, hearing the wizard mumble after him, “Blond, in black, and a bit edgy. Just like Mr. Potter said he'd be.”

“Cheeky bastard,” Draco grunts under his breath, maneuvering down the back halls he remembers taking before. He knocks on Harry's office door with the bottom of the bottle.

The door rapidly flings open to reveal Harry grinning, thrilled to see him. “Hey.”

His eyes narrow, but the flirtatious smirk calms the effect. “Blond, in black, and a bit _edgy_?”

“And _handsome_ , of course, but I couldn't say that,” Harry replies quietly with a scan of him from head-to-toe. His partner ushers him inside, shutting, locking, and sealing the door with spells of protection and layers of _Muffliato_ behind him. “I knew once I got delayed how you'd be, and I'm sorry about that delay. I really had meant to show at least an hour ago. I just finished some papers to go.”

“Albus mentioned a work emergency. Were you safe?” Draco asks as he sits the wine, food, and bag all upon Harry's busy desk of parchments.

“Yeah. Rookie on duty panicked over a pixie report. A few got loose in someone's house as a holiday prank. We're short staffed tonight, so I got the owl for being more experienced and available.”

“I assume you caught them.”

“Yeah, with stunning spells. Hard to do, though, when I had some early drinking folks in the way stumbling and screaming over the pixies. Do you remember when Hermione used a freezing spell in school on that bunch Lockhart let loose?”

Draco smirks and shrugs out of his coat, draping it over a chair as his mind conjures up the little blue bastards easily. “What a memory. Fucking ancient now.”

Harry chuckles and lets out a long breath behind him. Arms come around Draco, and a nose burrows into his hair, breathing him in like oxygen. Lips press down his ear and neck, and that smell he's missed, that scent of Harry, overwhelms him in the best possible way.

“Mm,” Draco greets the mouth wandering along his jaw with his own lips as he shifts. “I've missed you. I know we've seen one another a fair amount over the holidays, but...not the...way I mean. I miss _you_ , Harry.”

The responding sigh is weighted, knowing, and tired. “Believe me, I know, babe. I've missed you, too. I know Scorpius has needed time with you, _especially_ since Astoria's passing this summer, and between us and the divorce, the bit of time lately I've had with the kids has helped ground them. I can't regret that.”

“I know,” Draco replies, lifting the hand near his middle to kiss the scarred knuckles from years of hard work and dark magic. And then he lets go to uncover the tray of food, and Harry pulls two glasses off a back shelf to pour the wine. “It's been...difficult, I won't lie, but _I've_ needed time with Scorpius, and I understand. It's relieving to talk and laugh. It's even lovelier occasionally to just sit, do nothing, and hear him moving about upstairs. Sometimes I need that, strange as it sounds, because...well, it won't be here soon. It'll be quiet again.”

“I'll create some sound then,” his partner assures him soothingly with loving voice and eyes. “You'll have me, Draco. Don't worry.”

Draco sips his glass in a much better mood. “Sit, eat, and be merry, you bastard. Our evening starts here for my waiting.”

“I wasn't going to be much longer, you know. Seriously. I was starting a letter to owl you I'd be on my way.”

“Don't care. Got bored and remembered that you promised me something _else_ once,” Draco teases, sitting atop the desk's edge as Harry collapses back into his chair. He gives the wood a smooth rub with his fingertip, running it sensually in a circle the same way he would trace a part of Harry's own body. He knows Harry's thinking exactly the same thing with his gaze riveted so intensely upon his finger on the wood. “Remember, Harry? I'm late one appointment.”

Harry looks up again and slowly grins. His eyes burn bright behind his lenses, and he strokes the stubble along his chin as sensually as Draco had the desk. “Oh. That's right. Well, _I've_ got the time if you do, Draco Malfoy.”

“Excellent,” Draco smiles. Quickly he goes through the bag nearby. “Brought your gifts, by the way.”

Boxes retrieved, he hands them over and moves the wine bottle safely out of the way for Harry to open up the nice cable knit jumper, murmuring, “Wish I'd thought to bring _your_ gifts. Could go get them, I suppose.”

“I appreciate anything you've purchased for me, but this—us—is all I want,” Draco insists, leaning closely to kiss at Harry's slightly bearded jawline. Their brows rub a moment, and he opens himself all bare there for Harry to see, able to time the exact moment when those pupils widen doing so. “You've given me more than you could ever know, given me things that are beyond measurable in their worth—strength, passion, love, steadiness for my son.”

Harry smiles to himself, speechless.

Draco nudges Harry gently as he leans backward, gesturing at the other wrapped box with its ribbon. “Given...our ages and our lives, I figured material wants aren't so prominent. So, I tried to get creative with these.”

Harry's lip curves to one side, and he tears open the black and silver wrapping paper. He pulls out a stationary set and a custom wax seal of a lion and snake facing each other with their tails wrapped. “Okay, explain.”

“Obviously I imagine us returning to our routine of you staying over some of the week, but I also thought perhaps...we could exchange _naughty_ letters from time to time when you get busy whilst working after holidays,” Draco shrugs elegantly, sipping his wine. “Use this seal, and I'll know what's inside. I have a matching one.”

“Brilliant. I like it.”

“The quill is rare, a hippogriff feather _just_ for you. Paid a small fortune for it, but I was satisfied with its method of retrieval—some donation from a keeper of them. The ink is ground from special magicked charcoal. It will appear to fade after you seal the letter, and it will only reappear if the one you wish to read it touches the paper using an agreed upon charmed word. Consider it an extra precaution for you to read how much I want you as you take morning tea in your office.”

Harry stares at him, astounded.

Draco arches a brow.

“A hippogriff feather.”

“Yes.”

“And ink so rare I've only _heard_ about it being used by Aurors when I was born with Voldemort on the loose.”

“Indeed,” Draco replies, finishing his glass and setting it near the bottle. His expression settles most alluringly, brows bouncing in a tease. “So? How impressed _are_ you, Potter?”

Harry pushes to his feet and snags Draco's chin in a hot, tender grip, kissing him passionately. “You thoughtful, wonderful man. I adore you.”

“You had better,” he teases, flushed and pleased with Harry's reception of his gifts.

His partner considers him quietly, though, and something in his expression starts to shift slowly but surely. Harry rests his brow to the side of Draco's head, leaning heavily enough that even Draco feels Harry's guilty distress. “I do...and I mean it—you're so thoughtful. And I've not been lately.”

“Harry—”

“Draco, I'm sorry. My mind's been so fucking everywhere over everything and everyone. Making sure everyone gets attention, everyone gets to speak, and everyone is okay. Even so...we've put time for us aside for all this change to begin to settle, and we can't keep doing so. My kids need me, and your son needs you, but _we_ also need _each other_. You're here, and I feel more whole than I have in a few days.”

How _Potter_ to say. How kind and understanding and sacrificing.

How like sun to his emotional days.

“We're just as important. I know that. I don't mean to get so caught up in my concerns, but...I guess I let myself focus on the kids more _because_ I know you and I are so strong together. I wasn't worried about _us_. I have faith in us. I know we're fine. But even so, Draco, I shouldn't have just relied on that to keep _being_ fine. I should have been checking in with you about _us_ , too.”

His pulse flutters, his worried heart skips beats with the gesture, and his personality responds to the bit of vulnerability caused by Harry's guilt. He understands and appreciates it, but he knows his partner _far_ too well to let this line of thinking continue.

Draco jerks his head and bumps Harry's brow gently, getting a quick, soft _ow_ in return. “I love you, Harry, but don't be ridiculous.”

“I'm not! I've been thoughtless, and I'm sorry.”

He wants to smile so much.

Like father, like son.

“If you were _thoughtless_ , don't you think I'd say something? Me. With _my_ mouth.”

“Well...I suppose you would, knowing you.”

“Yes, I would. We've both been neglecting ourselves a bit, and yes, I've missed you all holiday, missed _my_ time with you, but I get what we're both trying to do for our families. I know we've no example to follow, and I know we're doing all we know to do. Even so, you've not been _ignoring me_ , Potter, so don't give me apology for it. We _are_ fine, and though I'm glad you felt safe enough to rely on that lately, I do think you're right about one thing—we need to balance this better.”

Harry's hand takes his and squeezes strongly. “Thank you. Thank you for understanding.”

“You're welcome. You, however, clearly didn't listen to me, though. I've told you to _breathe_ , remember? So stop trying to carry everything upon your shoulders and take time for _yourself_ , let alone our relationship.”

“I did, yesterday.”

“One afternoon in how long, Harry? Years? You're a loving partner and a wonderful father, Harry, but sometimes you're the _worst_ Gryffindor, never letting something go once it's in your head that it's all your responsibility. Share, you brat. Give yourself a break from all the stress with the kids, and let myself and Ginny help. Breathe however you need to do so.”

Harry stays silent for a minute after that, quite chastised and thoughtful. Then there's a sweet, retaliatory bump back to his head, a nose brushing the spot, and lips loudly kissing it after. “Yes. I know, I know. You're right. I spend lots of time with Al and Lily, and I have been focusing on James maybe more than I should be. I've just never done this before, and...I don't want to _lose_ any family ever again, especially over my own actions.”

“You _won't_ ,” he retorts, lifting their held hands and nuzzling the fingers near his mouth. “Listen to me, will you? Don't just repeat my words, Harry, but take them into you and _listen_.”

“I—thank you, babe.”

But his partner _still_ looks like he's struggling, and Draco pushes at it, his long fingers running down Harry's front. “What is it?”

Harry sighs. “James and I are trying to communicate better, but he seems to want time away from me after the past days. I get it, I need it myself, and Ginny's gotten him to relax. But he's still _scared_ of something, and...I don't know what it is. He gets defensive when you're brought up and withdrawn when you're not.”

“Then perhaps he sees me as a threat to something.”

“To what? I've told him being with you doesn't change my relationship with my children. There's only so much I can say and repeat and prove by being there, and it's something he'll either come to terms with one day on his own or won't. Until I can really figure out what else is bothering him, I feel like I'm hacking away at solid ice. At least Al and Lily are doing better—but, Draco, they both knew you in ways he never has before we were a couple.”

Harry looks so torn and yet hopeful nonetheless, and before Draco can speak, Harry continues, his voice breaking a little. “It helps, but I'm so drained. I'm running on sheer willpower alone. Is it terrible to admit I need a moment to myself? That I was glad Ginny had the kids yesterday and Albus stayed with Scorpius for a while? That I felt guilty over the request for me to come in today because I...woke this morning still trying to tell myself I'm a selfish prick for yesterday? For just wanting to sit with a glass of wine by myself on the roof and do nothing for a little while?”

“No,” Draco answers, tone leaving no room for argument. “Not at all.”

Harry moves slightly around for his breath to tease fringe across Draco's eyelashes. A strong palm slips from Draco's right shoulder to his cup his jaw, and Harry presses his nose to Draco's cheek. “Does it make me fucking selfish to say I can't sleep half the time because I want you there?”

Draco adjusts, grey eyes captivating the stunning emeralds beneath their lenses. “No. And if it would, Harry, then I am just as selfish as you.”

When Harry stares at him, Draco shakes his head and pulls his love close for a hot kiss. The palm about his jaw shifts to hold his face more, and relief surges through Draco, body and soul. Tongues briefly meet, lips part and press, and Draco holds the last kiss a few seconds longer, drawing it out and pulling away with a soft sound.

“You are nothing to anyone else if you don't take care of yourself," he warns. "Even _you_ need a break, Chosen One. So take it, damn it, or I'll lock you in my room and make you rest.”

Harry smiles, tired and gorgeous and not knowing it, stirring Draco's heart and not hearing it thumping away in his ears. “Locking me in there will just make me want to do other things. Things with _you_. Things I'm about to do with you on this desk right now.”

“What a naughty man, trying to distract me.”

“Fine, I promise I'll take _more_ time for me, too. Satisfied?”

Draco brightens. “I like it when you _listen_.”

“Good,” Harry grunts and swipes half the parchments off of his desk, sending both the papers and Draco's heart into an outrageous flutter. “Now we have some business. Scoot over.”

Draco slowly, slyly, shifts, his flirty grey eyes watching Harry's green ones grow hotter and hotter, and then he cackles as impatient hands help him slide, placing him between quills and inkwells, boxes and food, respectfully turned picture frames and a bottle of wine.

Harry grabs the crown of his head, mouth dominating Draco's with heavy want and appreciation. Draco moans, deepening the kiss instinctively, long fingers digging with relish into Harry's wild dark hair. They part long enough for Harry to breathe heavily, eyeing him like a stalking lion. An _aroused_ stalking lion.

Harry's teeth tease his earlobe, grunting, “ _Fuck_ , babe. I need you. I've missed you so much.”

Draco shudders and holds Harry's face, kissing him this time, dominating from below with pent up need withheld for days. “Your damn pillow doesn't smell like you anymore, and I'm fucking sick of it, Potter.”

His partner nods knowingly. “I'll fix that tonight.”

“Damn right you will,” Draco demands, “but we aren't leaving until after you've made it so you'll never work again on this desk without thinking of _me_.”

It's all the encouragement Harry needs.

Breaths later, lips are upon him, hands roaming up his sides and framing his cheeks. His legs rest near Harry's hips and hang over the desk. And a heated pelvis grinds the cock he's missed against his own, and Draco is blissfully lost.

Breaths puff between them, the room heating as Harry manages to keep one eye on the door occasionally and still unbutton and shuffle down Draco's trousers from his hips.

Draco's back arches slightly, his head falling to the wood below him as his jaw relaxes and he moans loudly. The hot cavern of Harry's mouth takes him halfway before it meets the firm, knowing fingers touching the base of him, and Draco tenses and relaxes as Harry licks him, sucks at him, and just strokes him all around.

“Yes!” Draco cries out, still softly despite the charms over the room. “ _Fuck_.”

“Mm,” Harry moans, tongue swirling about the head of his cock.

Draco whispers, fingers curling through the dark hair, “Don't stop, Potter. _Don't stop_ , my love, just don't... _ah_!”

He loses his sense of words, forgets his ability to speak with his love's pleased sounds and equally pleasing touches. Draco's heart soars, full and proud, his body relaxes in a way it hasn't in days, and his mind feels so very, very far away.

Euphoric. That must be the term.

He's euphoric there on his back as his love nurtures him, tastes him, suckles him with a mouth made of magic. Fingers rub over his thighs and cup his sac, rolling it gently against a broad palm timed with the tip of Harry's tongue dancing under the head of his cock.

He almost can't believe they're doing this here. That witch and wizard are still out there somewhere along with other emergency staff for the holiday night, and Draco could not give a single fuck that here he is over Harry's desk getting sucked off. And _more_.

“Ah!” he groans, voice finding him again. Draco's barely able to open his grey eyes on the magnificent sight down his body. Closer, closer, _so close_ , and he grips the hair in his fingers tightly. “Harry!”

His partner smirks up at him behind those signature glasses, and Draco feels Harry purposefully drag his tongue up, around, and pull back until the tip of him rests right at Harry's lips. They softly rub and kiss, caress and suck gently.

Draco's head falls back to the desk as Harry nearly throats him, and he comes, feeling Harry swallow in reflex.

For the first time since the boys came home, Draco takes a breath. A real, deep, _peaceful_ breath that isn't trying to hold itself or carry itself or exhale faster than he can replenish it.

Draco breathes the way he's told Harry to do, and it's as he lies there, coming back down from the glorious high, that he sees how badly he'd needed to do so, _too_.

Harry steps away long enough to bare himself, and then he leans over Draco's dazed, happy self for a kiss, his hard cock grazing along Draco's lower belly and waist and making him moan all over again.

“Bless your _talented_ mouth,” Draco murmurs against the lips kissing his.

His partner snickers at him. “Glad you liked it. I've...had some long nights lately thinking of things to try.”

“And I am _grateful_ to you for such well spent hours.”

Hands slide knowingly down Draco's sides and catch at his hips. “Lift up, babe,” Harry whispers near his jaw.

Draco obliges as he can with his legs, lifting his thighs enough for Harry's hands to catch under them and lift them higher, pulling Draco's bum closer to his partner's front against the edge of the desk. Draco, for his part, lies there infatuated with the knowledge of power on display. Harry's strength, his pride and prowess, enamor Draco, speed his heart up until they might just burst it. And when their eyes meet after Harry quickly spells some lubricant from his wand, Draco almost feels back in his bed, almost feels being spooned and loved for the first time all over again.

A finger caresses and prepares him before the thick cock claims its offered, beloved place.

This, he knows, is what life can be. Should be. Connection and poise, raw experiences of taste and touch, heart to heart and flame to flame. Blanket-less to see the stars and the prisms, every shade of the rainbow he can imagine.

Harry makes love to him gently at first with open eyes and parted lips, with hands holding his legs and hips to thrust into him so well that each light smack of his arse and sac against Harry make Draco's eyes want to roll back into his skull in pleasure.

And then, there in the lamp light of Harry's office, Draco sees his love's tightly wound control of the past several days begin to unwind. Harry's thrusts slam harder, come faster with each successive one, and Draco touches himself tiredly, beyond turned on in the moment.

Slowly over the minutes of delicious, pounding sex, Harry adjusts and holds Draco's bum, bending over top of him and kissing him into a wonderful mess there on the desk. Draco's arms tighten up and around Harry's neck.

“Draco,” Harry breathes out, his mouth unable to close, his eyes so beautiful and wanting above him. “ _Yes._ _Mm_ , babe.”

“Tell me, Harry, that I am all you want—that I'm all you need this way,” Draco demands, his voice so silky. “Swear it to me. And I swear it in turn.”

“I swear, Draco. This,” Harry grunts with a harsher, amazing thrust into his body, “ _mmph_ , fuck, ah! I-It's....”

He licks Harry's throat. “It's what, love?”

“It's where I...belong. _With you_ ,” Harry answers with a gasp, then a groan, and finally a clench of his jaw and grinding teeth. “Ah! Ah, _ah_!”

Draco's tongue happily flicks over the rough stubble of Harry's jaw and up to his parted lips, swiping over the lower one for Draco to suck briefly. Harry kisses him relentlessly, lips pushing and parting, tongue swiping into his mouth.

Draco moans through the kiss and into Harry, his arms locking with one elbow hooked about the back of Harry's throat to keep him close. Faster. Harder. The flesh of his arse and lower back dig against the wood, and Draco relishes each hint of pain from it, feeling it cumulate as he burns through his veins and feels himself slightly orgasm again from the stimulating rub of Harry's shirt to his cock and Harry's thick erection filling him.

The kiss breaks as Draco drastically gasps for air as he comes, and Harry cries out through his teeth to Draco's neck, trying to stay quieter with each last amazing thrust. He feels Harry climax the instant Draco bites Harry's neck, sucking on it harshly.

“Ah!” Harry calls hoarsely into his ear. “ _Ahhh._ ”

Draco shudders pleasurably, limp between Harry and the desk and a bum full of cock.

Harry trembles, too, from all the stress and all the relief exchanging through him at once. Draco can count the thoughts slapping his love in the face, one at a time, the fears, the worries, the guilts as he comes down from his own euphoria back into his mind.

“Harry,” Draco says, holding his Chosen One so close. “ _Breathe_.”

Their chests press together as Harry inhales, exhales, and slowly gets his racing heart to slow down. It takes a few moments for his quiet breathing to circulate into something calmer, something relaxed and natural, and Draco strokes up and down Harry's back the entire time with tender pressure.

Harry quivers when he carefully pushes upon his palms and glances down.

His eyes are clear. Void of weighted thought. He's _breathed_.

Draco looks up at him, more satisfied than any cat given cream. “You are my everything.”

The green is reflective. Soft. “I am, am I?”

“Oh you know you are,” he laughs quietly. Fingertips trace a lock of fringe from Harry's glasses. “I could not love you more, Potter. You are everything.”

“Love you, too, Malfoy,” his grinning partner says. “My shelter. My partner. The reason I will _never_ look at this desk the same way. Ever.”

Draco grins back, sighing as Harry carefully withdraws. “Then my mission is accomplished. Now take me home, so we can get naked, and let me love you in bed whilst we drink and be merry. And tonight, at the stroke of midnight, we start a new year, Harry.”

Harry eyes him, wand in hand to spell them clean as Draco shifts upon his elbows. “And we start it with _us_ , Draco.”  
  
"Worth it all, you think?" Draco asks, thanking Harry for cleaning him and then pulling him to his feet to adjust his clothes.  
  
"I told you that day I knocked on your door, Draco," Harry answers, determined in green. "There would be walls, but it would be worth it. We would be. And we are, even with the kids and all the change."

Draco shrugs into his coat with a smile and a bit of hope for a teenager with walls as strong as his own.  
  
When they emerge after tidying the room and gathering their things, they exit down the hall with matching awkward smiles, unnoticed through the more empty front with wizards chatting in another room to the side.  
  
They take the elevator to the Floos and walk the empty corridor of the Ministry together, hand in hand.  
  
And they never let go.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 


	59. f o l l y

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm going to include a minor trigger warning because I've got a strong suspicion that some reading along have their own very different or similar experiences positioned within the topic of divorce, step parents, or new people in parents' lives: 
> 
> The next _two_ chapters feature intense emotional processing dialogue that is absolutely crucial to plot and character development. It is not harmful. It is not abusive. It is earned defiant teenage angst and pain clashing with the force of necessary adult maturity and hurt. And though it is intense, it is also thoughtful, loving, hopeful, and turns out with far more respect than it started with--as such a process, at its best, can and should hopefully do. 
> 
> This has not been emotionally easy to write for many reasons beyond its inspirational sources. It's been a delicate dance of dialogue, positioning, and emotional and physical blocking. It has taken weeks to accomplish. And it is entirely worth it.
> 
> Thank you for reading.]
> 
>  
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

  


 

 

  

 

 

 

59.

 

f o l l y

 

 

With the New Year past, there is much to do in little time.

Merely a few days separate the comfort Scorpius's presence has brought him from the quiet of the house, and despite Harry's reassurances, Draco knows there will be nights here and there for the first while that are going to be _difficult_ again; more so this time because though grief still rests within his chest, it is not the controlling type it had been prior. It isn't engulfing his every thought and emotion and will.

To avoid thinking of it, he considers other items just as troubling in the busy coming days.

To start, there's last minute supplies for the spring term his son requires. There's the holiday decorations that need taken down with Scorpius's help, lest he get stuck in an odd melancholic trap of grief with it all hanging with himself alone in the house again. And there's the gifts he wishes to still exchange with Harry's children as they, too, prepare the boys to return to Hogwarts.

There is, however, one problem.

He has _no_ idea what to do for James.

Draco's nearly dug himself into a mental hole trying to consider _any_ gesture that might be sincere enough to be accepted by the skeptical teenager, and he's yet to discover anything...partly because there's so little he knows _how_ to express to Harry's eldest son. Not without it being a struggle, regardless.

The idea comes to him finally. But it takes everything he has to endure its coming arrival.

It happens on the third of January when he takes Scorpius to lunch with Harry and the children at the flat. Harry and Draco had both decided to have one last little thing with the children, since they'd _all_ get incredibly busy very soon.

The lunch goes well, with the children chattering and even James engaging some, and Lily takes Albus and Scorpius down the stairs outside to draw with some magicked chalk she was given at Christmas. James sits in his room penning a response letter to the girl he'd brought with him to Ginny's holiday scrimmage. And Harry and Draco clean up the table, hearing the laughter outside from the cracked door.

When he smiles to himself at the sink, Harry's arms squeeze him for a brief hug. “They get on well enough, don't they?”

“Yeah. Lily says she doesn't feel excluded with them. The boys do a good job of including her.”

“Good.” Draco turns his back to the sink and looks Harry over. “He still in his room?”

Harry nods, smirking a little. “Scribbling away. I think he really fancies her. I wonder if Albus will fancy someone over his time at Hogwarts. Think Scorpius will?”

Draco shrugs elegantly. “Who's to say? He seems quite content with the strength of platonic love around him.”

“Of course, Draco. Friends mattered most to me, even when I _had_ crushes.”

“I'm not going to ask who _they_ were. I'll only say that though you and I are so wrapped up in our own romantic relationship as adults, it doesn't mean our friendship is lost or a step below, either. We wandered through it all on a path most don't take. It went sideways, backwards, and looped all around, didn't it?”

“Basically. We're just us as we are.”

“Precisely, and that's what I will tell him should he ever ask about friendships and romances. Friendships aren't worth _less_ than something with romantic connotations. You know this—you're still obviously very close with Ginny despite our relationship, _as_ you should be with you staying friends. Scorpius grew with Astoria and I never even exhibiting romantic love as some goal nor was he raised with the belief it was specifically what must be obtained or normal. And though he sees romantic love between us, Harry, I think it fascinates him, but not in a necessarily emulating manner. He just seems curious. So if he ever does develop some feelings for a person, that's fine, and if he does not, that is _also_ fine. I am _not_ forcing my son to ever feel he must dance to my demands of how he should be. I am not _my_ father.”

“No, you're not. You're not remotely the same as Lucius.” Harry nods and stacks dry plates next to him. “Might sound odd, but Scorpius reminds me of Luna sometimes.”

“Lovegood?”

“Yeah. She was like that—she cared about all of us so much. She put her friends first in all we went through...with us barely knowing what _she_ had in her own life. Her friends mattered most, her bonds with all of us. And her kindness, her genuine acceptance and bravery, is why my _daughter_ shares her name,” Harry admits, smiling to himself reflectively. “Luna still takes care of her dad with him being alone and occasionally writing to produce a yearly _Quibbler_ now. Have to say she's quite a happy person, and I'm fairly certain she's not ever spoken about someone in a romantic way before.”

Draco raises his brows, trying to even imagine what the girl in his memories looks like now. Long pale hair like his still? Big blue eyes always so wide? A still soft, curious face? Seeing the obvious affection in Harry's expression for Lovegood, he asks, “Does she know of us?”

“No,” Harry answers. “Just my family, Ron and Hermione. But if...anyone might have _seen_ it coming, it'd be her. Luna's special. She saw things in all of us we never saw in ourselves. Sometimes I just have tea with her when I've...had bad days at work. She always knows what to say.”

“I imagine so, the clever Ravenclaw,” Draco assures him, hand over Harry's on the counter. His mind carefully notes the work stress that has continued to plague his partner, because with Harry's job danger is _always_ possible. He sighs. “You can tell her about us, Harry. We will, together, if you wish.”  
  
“All right.” Harry whispers softly. He searches the grey eyes insistently, easily finding the something within them to read, the something that's been circling Draco's mind for months now with all the changes stirred again by Harry's vulnerable reference. A thumb reaches and strokes over his lower lip. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nonsense.”

“Oh?”

“You know,” Draco says, evading his bubbled up fears of Aurors and danger, “talking about children and classmates growing up, it just makes me feel so....well, _old_. Fucking dreadful.”

Arms come around him, and a nose presses to his cheek, breathing him in like oxygen. The heat is intoxicating, soothing him better than a blanket or shower with his cooled inner thoughts. They stand together in the kitchenette with a quill scratching in the flat and children laughing outside, and Harry chuckles contentedly into his ear.

“We're _not_ old,” his love protests. “We _aren't_.”

“Of course we're not, not yet. Thirty-eight for now, Potter, but five galleons says you blink, and I'll be sixty tomorrow. Then what will you do, hm? Not want me, that's for damn sure. _Especially_ if I look like Grandfather with his wretched scowling wrinkles.”

“Draco, come on. You're being silly. You don't scowl that much anymore to worry about wrinkles.”

“Yes, well, I'll be _forty_ in technically less than two years at this rate. That'll make me scowl plenty.”

“So? Forty for a month before I am. Big deal.”

“Sod it, Potter. If you crack age jokes that entire month, I'll take out daily ads in the papers to congratulate _you_ on your fortieth.”

Harry laughs loudly, happily and freely for a moment, and Draco thinks it's been ages since he's heard that sound without a hint of reserved worry inside of it. “I know you, babe. Age might brush your bit of vanity, but that's not what your eyes look so worried about. Talk to me.”

Draco sighs. Damn the man for knowing him so lovingly well. His right hand massages the back of Harry's head, and his left arm curls about his love's torso for fingers to trail up and down the sweater he'd bought Harry for Christmas—which, of course, is _dashing_ on him. “I want to ask a question, but I'm not sure I should. Not here...not ever, maybe.”

“Just ask it. Quietly. You said you've let me in, and I want you to show me now.”

“Very well. I wish to ask a question, and it is without intent of hurting you.”

“Okay.”

Somehow he finds the words to wonder, _very_ quietly, “She couldn't be afraid anymore, could she?”

Harry doesn't speak, doesn't move his face from Draco's shoulder where it has pressed. Draco can feel Harry already tightening up because Potter gets it. A full minute of silence passes, and Harry exhales with frustration, his brow heavy to him.

The silence is his answer.

And it is as he thought.

For so long he'd wondered, and for so long he'd told himself it wasn't his business. But in a way, it is now—not her reasons, but the motivation for them, because he'd bet his savings Ginny Weasley had smothered concerns for years the way he's done for months.

It was never that he figured Ginny wouldn't support Harry's career or understand the driving need for Potter to always be on guard, to always be out there protecting his family from anything and everything to feel control for once in his life. Harry _needs_ to feel he's doing what he can. He _needs_ to know his family is safe, never to be stolen from him in any form again.

And Ginny.... Draco knows she would have understood that.

So he presumed it was likely that after years of fear and terrifying momentary scares for safety that the mother in Ginny Weasley struggled to reconcile supporting that constant danger and shielding her children if possible from it. That the friend in her, the one who witnessed Harry's very development, would still wish to support his choice even as the wife in her hoped that maybe, just maybe, one day he'd stay home safe or do something a little different. Combine it with their schedule issues, her playing keeping her away often, and the love changing, and...Ginny and Harry's inability to get past something _this_ big makes sense.

Having felt his own small dose of the fear, he gets it.

Since the night they first made love, his concern has been squirreled away in his brain over the natural lack of constant safety being an Auror brings. That any day, for any reason, Harry might vanish like he had with Weasley to chase the old, dangerous Animagus. Or worse, that any day Harry could be pulled into a fight of some sort with a Dark wizard. And those thoughts lead him to think that any day, for any reason, Harry might not come back.

Not every emergency would be something so simple as pixies.

Though he loves Harry Potter through to his core and respects what he does and why he does it, even Draco is struggling with wanting all their future and not being afraid. The thoughts spur the brief image of Harry's young body in Hagrid's arms, and Draco flinches. His chest spasms, his breath races, and Harry holds him safely. He holds back just as tightly, moving his mouth to kiss along Harry's cheekbone and temple, and he swears in the now solemn room, “I know why you must do it.”  
  
“Draco,” Harry chokes, grateful and hoarse against his jaw. “I....”

“I know it's not about your ego. Maybe once I'd have thought that, but not now. You're too tired, too stressed, and too desperate for peace for it to be about ego.” Draco nuzzles Harry gently, nose along the stubbly jaw. “It's about your own fears, isn't it?”  
  
Harry's head hangs against his. His voice is reserved, leashed, and almost muted. “Yes. Ginny supported me _so much_ , through things I honestly consider now she shouldn't have. Scares, moments where even I thought it could be too dangerous once we had the kids. She'll always worry, even with us separated, but I think...I think it hurts a little less now for her. Somehow. She let it be on me as my decision instead of trying to carry it for me.”

Draco lowers his eyes, nodding against Harry. “That unexpected trip of yours earlier scared me more than I ever said, Harry. Even with you being safe, returning unharmed, it's the...not knowing. I shudder to think what I'd do if you come back broken in the future.”

“I know. There were times when James was little that I'd come home injured. Ginny would heal me and keep me home, and she'd often stay quiet for a few days after.”

“It was one thing running about with you as teenagers fighting evil. You were banded together in a way that's...well, its priorities were different. The world was different. _You_ were different. You weren't yet a young parent, terrified of suddenly losing a child...and I can imagine...being one after the War made you consider your parents all the more.” Draco leans Harry against the counter, finger rising up to trace Harry's brow, and says, slowly as possible, “You are _not_ just some sacrifice. Your life isn't meant to serve as some barrier against dark magic all your days.”

Harry's lips part. No sound escapes.

Draco kisses his temple firmly. “You are so much _more_ , Harry. Even if this is what you knew to do or felt you could.”

“I-I know, but....”

He almost thinks he hears footsteps, but the sound stops so suddenly that Draco ignores it.

His grey eyes like fog catch over Harry's green, and with months of grief spurring him, he says louder than he means to speak, “Though I'll always support your career decisions because it is _your_ life, I want you to know this. I want you to know what I hide from myself amongst the many fears I've had over us. I've already lost her, Harry. I've lost my best friend, the one I trusted more than any other for so long. I don't want to ever lose _you_ , the damn love of my life, too.”

There's a rustle nearby in the flat.

Harry kisses his fingertip sliding back down. “You won't.”

“Don't you dare promise me that,” he hisses lowly, very aware of the steps now resuming closer to the room, his stomach dropping at the thought that James might have heard. “Not if you can't uphold it.”

“I'm not. I promised _her_ that. Astoria. At her grave,” Harry explains. “I'm...considering some options I've not been telling anyone yet—you know, about retiring early. Just didn't want to talk about it without a solid plan, and...well, I've done this job since I was a teenager, really. It's time.”

Draco wants to speak. He wants to give apology for pressure and gratitude for Harry thinking as he has and considering decisions silently. But he hears the now quite loud and demanding footsteps and instead curses himself for daring to be honest with Harry the second James comes through the doorway and says, “Good to know you wouldn't consider staying home with _us_ , but _they're_ enough.”

Draco instantly lets go of Harry, and Harry storms around him to face his son, his body angled between Draco and James. “James, I've not _told_ anyone I've been considering retiring. I didn't _want_ to until I knew it was for certain. I've been considering it since the divorce. Your _Uncle Ron_ is the only one I talk to about it because we're deciding _together_. He keeps talking about Uncle George and the shop. He's thinking of helping George run it from now on. And I know your uncle won't...Ron won't go unless I switch to senior desk work or go, too. He doesn't want my back open without him there to watch it. We're both tired, weary, and want to be with our families more than we have been.”

Draco breathes, closing his eyes a moment. For if there was ever a reason for Draco to feel _grateful_ to Ron Weasley, it is this. It is this.  
  
“You just said you promised _his_ dead wife what you wouldn't _Mum_.”

Draco and Harry both stand speechless and horrified, shaken and angry in their own ways.  
  
“You don't think I didn't hear you two all those months ago?” James demands righteously. “You were arguing outside in the garden near _my bedroom window_ , and Mum asked you to _stop_ , Dad! She said she knew why you did it, but she wanted to know when it would ever be _enough_!”

“I know, James. I just couldn't quit at the time,” Harry tries, sounding ashamed and regretful. “I wasn't ready then.”  
  
“But you are now? Because of him? Because of _her_?” James asks, sneering at Draco. “How can some dead woman matter more than your own family!”

Draco's jaw locks. His eyes narrow like molten steel.

Harry's jaw locks, too. And his meadow eyes are enflamed.

“She doesn't matter more than my family, James! I'm ready now because the divorce made me _think_ about it, about why I've struggled with needing to work my job and wanting to quit it. What you and your brother and sister have always gone through has bothered me, but seeing how much change you've been through and how interfering my job might definitely be has made me think about how much I need to be home with all of you. And yeah, my _relationship_ with Draco certainly makes me think about it, too, about _him_ as well.”

James' face is dark and torn. “Why didn't you think about it before? You'd still be with _Mum_!”

Harry spreads his hands. He's serious, so damn serious, and bared before his child. His voice is will indomitable, his heart bleeding through each word as he answers, “James, there were many factors in our divorce. One different feeling on any of those wouldn't have necessarily stopped it from happening because _we_ didn't feel the same, the love between us had changed too much. And I didn't think about retiring the same way before because, well, it's hard to explain. What I lived through, what I lost—I needed to know nothing could ever happen if I kept you safe. I'd killed the worst wizard in history, but all it did was open my eyes to what else was out there. Forgive me, son, for wanting to _never_ be blindsided in life again—for _never_ wanting to lose you or put you through what I had endured by staying as safe as I could and keeping everything horrible in the world away from my family.”

James jerks his head to the side, furiously staring at the wall, unable to scream at those words.

To Draco he looks lost, but growing to the point of something big. Something needed.

“As to my promise to her? My _family—you_ , James _—_ were the first I've made this promise to, right here, when I knew what I had to think on,” his partner gestures, patting the center of his chest. “I simply made the same promise later to Astoria's memory because I _wanted_ to. Because she was a kind woman who listened to me, and I wanted to prove I listened to her _, too_.”

“Why her? Why does _she_ matter in anything?”

“She—”

“Oh, wait. I know this one,” James interrupts with a snort. “Overheard you talking on Christmas morning.”

“What did you hear, then?”

“Something about letters. Something about _listening to her_ when you and Mum were fighting.”

Harry's mouth opens, his eyes close, and his brows draw downward. Draco's heart already tense and defensive over Astoria's image being attacked now also hurts for Harry's visible pain. Harry breathes out. “James, let me explain—”

James gathers himself. He tries to appear strong before his father, but even in his raw anger, he is but a scared child in his eyes. “I don't want to hear it. She ruined my family. That woman _ruined_ our family!”

“She did _not_ , James!”

“Yes, she did! She plotted it, didn't she! Talking with you, writing you, encouraging you all that time! And now she's dead, and you left Mum, and isn't that convenient for _him_.”

Silence befalls the room.

Draco's heart beats after skipping once, twice, in a forced arrhythmia.

And right as Harry almost explodes like a show of fireworks, Draco makes his stand.

“Harry,” Draco says firmly, emptily, his moist eyes not leaving the defiant ones across from him. “Step outside, please.”

Harry's explosion of fatherly rage halts, the conflict there in his gaze. “Draco, I'm so sorry. He's crossed several lines. I _will_ handle this. I'll tell him everything about what happened with Astoria. I _will not_ let him believe this crap, and you _will_ get a full sincere apology from him when I'm done. I have had _enough_.”

Draco sees the tremble shaking up the frustration in James. He knows he has the chance he needs to help Harry's son, to help them _all_ , but he's got to take it _now_. It has to be him, even if he's on the unfair edge of fury and understanding—even if Harry looks ready to say what he must and discipline his son to the fullest with his own understanding beneath it all.

“He may be your son, but she was _my_ wife,” Draco slowly announces. “So, Harry, if you really trust me, let me speak with him. Alone.”

The teenage ego begins to slip away, revealing insecurity the longer James looks to him with real anxiety. The sudden awareness of _what_ he's said, implied, and how far it goes strikes, and James looks to Draco as if he wants to vomit, the nausea completely visible at the surface.

Harry doesn't hesitate, merely debates his next words, and then he fights back his own urges and walks to his son, putting a hand over James' dark inherited hair. His tone leaves _no_ room for argument. It is as deadly as Draco had heard in the War, and it is a tone reserved for when Harry Potter has reached his limit. “James, do you understand how serious this is?”

“Yes,” James grumbles, head falling under Harry's touch.

Draco watches his partner fight frustrated tears of his own. Harry briefly puts an arm around his stiff son's shoulders and passes by Draco for the door, stopping for a sorrowful peck and rub of his brow to Draco's cheek. “I'm so sorry.”

“Then trust me,” Draco requests, his eyes leaving James' stare for the first time in minutes. “This has been coming.”

The green meadowy look is begging and apologetic and so lost before him, but Harry nods once and then he is gone, the door shutting quietly behind him.

James shifts slightly, as if preparing for a duel subconsciously. His poise is tight, his body ready to spring, his eyes burning with unshed angry tears. And Draco feels simultaneous guilt and worry over each and every one.

“Go ahead,” the boy says, standing as tall as he can yet buckling, standing just like his father once had before Draco in a bathroom after he'd nearly bled to death on its floor. “Scream at me. I deserve it.”

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This cuts off where it does intentionally not to alarm anyone or for awful cliffhanging bait, but for sparing giant chapter length in what is otherwise average chapter lengths and to shift the focus from Draco's worries and shock to addressing the real issues plaguing James--to starting the healing process as it can only truly commence with the removal of a wall.
> 
> Click the next button and have faith in Draco and James both, okay? It'll be all right.]


	60. e c r u

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Have trust in _me_ as the writer of this long journey not to mess this delicacy up at the last minute.  
>  You might bite your nails a bit or cry some, but you'll breathe through to the end and have relief.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I'm going to include a minor trigger warning because I've got a strong suspicion that some reading along have their own very different or similar experiences positioned within the topic of divorce, step parents, or new people in parents' lives: 
> 
> The next _two_ chapters feature intense emotional processing dialogue that is absolutely crucial to plot and character development. It is not harmful. It is not abusive. It is earned defiant teenage angst and pain clashing with the force of necessary adult maturity and hurt. And though it is intense, it is also thoughtful, loving, hopeful, and turns out with far more respect than it started with--as such a process, at its best, can and should hopefully do. 
> 
> This has not been emotionally easy to write for many reasons beyond its inspirational sources. It's been a delicate dance of dialogue, positioning, and emotional and physical blocking. It has taken weeks to accomplish. And it is entirely worth it.
> 
> Thank you for reading.]
> 
>  
> 
> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

60.

 

e c r u

  

He'd thought he was _tense_ when seeing the Dark Lord move about his damn dining room, mocking and interrogating victims atop his table.

He'd thought he was _nervous_ when Harry had confronted him outside of the Room of Requirement.

He'd thought he was _defiant_ by raising his son outside of his father's example.

And he'd thought he was _hurt_ many, many times before.

But here in the flat above Ollivanders, Draco is all of that at once.

James waits for his serpentine rage, but all that comes at first is far worse—it's the silence of disappointment, of grief and understanding, and it is the loudest of them all.

Draco pulls upon everything he's got. He draws on his wit, his courage, his fierceness, his determination, his love, his _fatherhood_. Because if no one else alive beyond Harry Potter knows the difference of personal choice and maturation in Draco Malfoy, then James Sirius Potter will be taught Draco's most personal of truths and his most vulnerable of lessons. And if Draco is lucky, after they've screamed and clawed, hissed and fought like the lion and snake they are, they will walk away from it with respect.

Merlin help him if they don't.

Draco's jaw tightens, and he steps forward, hands in his pockets, eyes hypnotic like a cobra's. “Firstly, _my deceased wife_ did not plot to trash your family. Your parents had long chosen to discuss divorce before your father ever spoke with her. All she ever did was tell him to be honest with himself and do what he could to live a good life—for himself and for _you_ , and if that honesty and action involved _me_ in his life, then that would be that. She never wished for any demise of your family or _her own_ with her illness, had she been able to survive it at all. She wished for something _else_.”  
  
James angles his shoulders, but the rest of his body language is far more defensive and stubborn than the submission fighting to control his expression.  
  
“She told _me_ only in the very moment she died that she hoped for us all. She told your father that as well. I had _no_ idea about her befriending your father, about her writing to him. I only had her last words of knowing hope that I couldn't understand,” Draco speaks, pacing slowly, patiently, measuredly. “There was no plot. There was only acceptance of what your father already _knew_ was coming with the divorce and his buried feelings for me. She held no grudge on my behalf against your mother for being the person Harry chose nor did she hold one over _your father_ for being the one _I_ chose, and she certainly kept _none_ against any children. Astoria was the _kindest_ person I've ever known, a mother who could not live to see her own beloved son finish growing no matter what we tried, and _no one_ will tarnish her memory out of _any_ damn emotion. Am I clear, James?”

James stares up from heavy lidded, exhausted eyelids. The dewy lashes flutter a moment.

Draco arches his brow, his eyes pinning the teenager uncomfortably. “Well? _Am I?_ ”

“Yes,” James forcefully answers. He glances to the floor. “I didn't...know her. I just...overheard Dad mention her to the adults.”

“Mm,” Draco continues, pushing through the last bit of pain in his gut from James' clearly already regretted comments. “Well, it's easy to bully the dead, I suppose. Would you like to know how she died, since you couldn't let that fact go?”

“N-No.”

“She died painfully. From a blood curse against her family line. She was young, vibrant, a person who loved nature and everything and everyone in it, and she was _stolen_ from us by some bastard far ago that I cannot even _kill_. She died _in my arms_ in her bed with our son out of the room because she didn't want him to see her like that.”

“I'm s-sorry.”

“I've never heard my son _scream_ before, James, unless he was having nightmares. And his worst possible nightmare was real, there in his face, and he begged me to _wake him up_.”

“Stop! I get it!”

“So she's _dead_ , yes. She's _gone_.”

He can actually witness James keeping his tears at bay. “I s-said I was s-sorry, and I meant it. I sh-shouldn't have said that, and I regret it.”

If Draco's as honest as he should be, he did _no better_ as a child with his remarks about Harry's own parents, and that damn well eats at his conscience now. And his point has been clearly driven into James' very _Potter_ skull if the sea of remorse in his eyes is anything to go by.

Draco takes a breath and blows it out through his nose heavily. He stops pacing. “I accept your apology.”

James waits, eyeing him suspiciously. “That's it? You don't hate me? You're not going to spit at me?”

Draco glowers, but he pushes forward a step closer. “Would you rather I reprimand you? There's plenty else I can do so for.”

“Pardon me?”

“Let's examine your attitudes lately and the way you've been treating your father, shall we? I know you've feared your father's possible absence in your life. You've needed reassurance that he isn't abandoning you or your siblings, and you've received it plenty. Yet...since I've been around as his partner, you have not only been _pushing_ him away but also _shoving_ him at times, even if you pull him back at the last second.”

Harry's son holds steady, raw emotion burning through him and into Draco. Those teary eyes take on less remorse and more anger, fluctuating well within teenage swirling emotion.

“So tell me, James. Just why _are_ you so angry with him?”

“You really have to ask?”

“Yes, because this is more than normal anger. Are you this angry with your mother, too?”

“No. I'm frustrated with her over the divorce.”

“So you're angry with Harry alone, then? Because you feel he chose to leave despite them mutually ending it?”

James looks away to the counter behind Draco. “He lied to us about so much. He regrets being with _us_ and not being with _you_ , I know he does.”

“Now _that_ is a lie. It's a load of tripe, and you know it.”

“It's _true_!” James insists loudly with a wavering voice. “He loves _you_ now.”

“You act as if this is a competition when that couldn't be further from the truth—as if your father cannot love us all at once.”

“I said it's true!”

“The hell it is,” Draco counters, one foot planting firmly as he stands at his full height across from James. “Your father has _no_ regrets over your family and his marriage. None. And he _shouldn't._ As for the rest, he only knew he couldn't love your mother and I both back then—that was just a part of life he couldn't change nor was he ready to do so. _I_ wasn't, either.”

“Why didn't he ever tell us, then?” James inquires, arms crossing.

“I imagine he was very confused as to what he felt and whether it was right or wrong to feel. It could _not_ have been easy to go through, and I cannot fault him for not speaking when I didn't speak, either. Give him a little understanding, even if it's hard. Accepting one's sexuality can be quite difficult, particularly with people depending upon you otherwise, and _you_ have been raised in much more growing cultural acceptance than your father and I were. The Nineties were dangerous for us and people like us, especially Purebloods like myself with strict parents.”

James shakes visibly, his chin quivering as his arms uncross. “You think I'm mad at him for _that_? Do you really think I'm _that_ awful of a son? I'm not _mad_ at him for being bi!”

Draco lowers his head from its proud position to one more neutral. “No, I don't. I know you love your father dearly, even if you've been acting out this much.”

James glowers, eyes flashing. “You'd _better_ know it, Malfoy.”

He holds back his snort, even if he is approving of the attitude's source. “Again, I ask you—why are you angry with him? Are you really just angry with _me_ and taking it out _on_ him?”

“No. I can be angry with _you_ to your face.”

“And what about yourself?”

James scowls at him darkly. “Excuse me?”

“Do you feel _guilt_ over your reactions to the divorce and his new relationship? To the worry or fear or frustration or the like of all the change?”

James flinches. “No! I d-don't.”

Draco's brows furrow, but his eyes are full of sadness. “Then good. Your feelings to all of that stress are valid, and there shouldn't be guilt in that regard. You are _allowed_ to process so much change, James, you're allowed to _feel_ what you do initially, but—”

And just as fast as he flinched, James rebounds, full of fury. “In _that_ regard? But what? So I should feel guilty about _something_ , then?”

“Certainly.”

“Name it.”

“How overwhelmed and afraid you are don't merit guilt, but the way you've been _treating_ your father lately, snapping at him, not listening, not appreciating how much he's _trying_ for your sake is worth some regret!” Draco shakes his head. He knows he's onto something. He can feel it in his gut with each new layer of anxiety showing itself in the boy across from him. “How can you not see what it is _doing_ to him? How can you ignore the pain you're putting your father through constantly when _all_ he does is worry about you? He's drawing lines, James, because he knows he can't cushion everything for you anymore, and he has two other children, myself, and my son to also worry over as well, the same way I do _all of you_. The changes won't simply go away if you try to outlast them in your anger!”

“Shut up!”

“You can be an angry kid all you want, but you will _stop_ this treatment of him,” Draco shouts, voice whipping like venom. His jerks his pointed forefinger at the floor with each point he makes, yelling, “I've been _considerate_ of all you've been under lately, and so has he, and we have allowed too much in our worry. No _more_.”

Harry's son hyperventilates, worrying Draco inwardly, and then the angry teen bellows, “You'll _take him_! I might as well keep him at a distance, because you'll just take him away!”  
  
“I'll take him,” he repeats, brain putting the pieces together.

“Don't you see? I'll lose him! And he'll have _you_ , anyway!” James screams, and the emotional walls break so visibly in the boy's eyes that Draco can almost _feel_ their crash. “He's my father, but all he cares about is _you_ and making everything work out for _you_ , shoving you into _our_ lives! We don't have a choice! He doesn't need us anymore when he's got _you_! You make him happy, _you_ are all he fucking talks about, like you're so special! He wouldn't _shut up_ at Christmas trying to make sure people knew about _you_ , that you're _good_ and all now! You must _love_ being so important!”

Draco's breath catches. His heart rips open.

“He's always had you, right?” James doesn't let up, furious and broken, and his trembling finger points at his temple. “You've always been there in the back of his head, like some sickness building up inside of him until it's too late. You're _poison_! _You_ ruined my family!”

Draco closes wet eyes of regret and bittersweet sorrow and selfish love he can't let go.

James is on the verge of completely snapping across from him with the words finally out.

Draco swallows the pain quickly, bobbing his head and locking his jaw.

A moment of pause continues as the words almost echo in the flat between them and their hyperventilating.

He can't even speak. And somewhere in his head, he wonders if this was how he looked once, raging against walls he didn't understand and instead of lashing out at his father, he'd lashed out at school—at professors and students and _Harry_ himself.

But as they look to one another, each reflecting red and teary and frustrated like mirror images of glass, the chance manifests right there. Draco doesn't hesitate. He takes it immediately, his hand around the slipping, fleeing metaphorical red bit of string in his mind that leads to James.

“You believe you weigh him down, don't you?” he asks crisply.

Absolute silence.

James Potter opens his mouth, stunned in total disbelief. The lad doesn't even blink in his shock.

With quiet understanding he says, “You call me poison, believe I shall take him from you, yet you fear being a weight about his neck. Hurts, doesn't it, to hear such a thing.”

“Yeah, well, it's not like I haven't wondered if we've been in the way of his happiness! But I _—_ I didn't ask to be born!” James cries, suddenly torn with that odd guilt again. “It's not my fault! I didn't know you even existed like this! And now it won't matter. He's got you. He doesn't need me.”

Exposed like a spider's web made of raw nerves, the reasons have become so clear to him: the pushing and pulling of Harry, the alternating quietness and loud anger, the needful hugs and harsh rejections of his father. The spite against Draco switching with genuine progress. All of it boils down to fear of losing Harry to the divorce, to someone else, to the possible loss of his own specialness in Harry's life, and the mess is tied to so much confusion and guilt and uncertainty and legitimate anger against Harry as to what's even right or wrong that James can't truly understand it for himself.

The poor kid. He's endured so much.

“James,” Draco whispers, both relieved for finally _getting_ it and regretful for causing the pain. “I'm sorry.”

James blinks, confused and crying sniffling tears.

Draco takes two steps closer until they stand only another two apart. “We are more alike than you could know.”

“...what?” The teen questions him, torn across the emotional veil. “But....”

“You don't think I haven't feared being a weight upon his neck, too? You don't think I haven't fought my feelings for him for _years_ with such thinking? That I ruined his life with a kiss? You don't think I haven't suffered _extreme_ concern since I took his hand and agreed to be with him?”

James seethes through clenched teeth. “No, but—”

“Well, I have. And you, James...you must understand that though your emotions _are valid_ , your words still have consequences. You can scream, you can bleed, but know what you say has weight you're unleashing upon someone else. It's a lesson I didn't learn until I was much older than you. It's one my pride didn't allow, and one that cost me so much.” Draco gestures with one hand, keeping the other on his hip. “As for this fear of me stealing him? James, you couldn't take your father from _me_ by being born for the same reason _I_ cannot and will not take him from _you_ now—because your father is a _person_ , with his own autonomy, and he is not _owned_ by anyone. He is not a _toy_ for us to _bicker_ over like two entitled, selfish brats!”

James stands there, totally overcome. He closes his eyes. Tears roll down his cheeks.

“I would never take him, anyway, even if I could,” Draco attempts to assure him. “James, I am not intimidated by your relationship with him. I don't feel disregarded because you've been so vulnerable and need him. I've missed him lately, _yes_. That's _fine_. I know he needs me, but he's needed _you_ , all of you children. He's needed to know you still _love_ him. Not unlike how I've needed time with _my_ son since Astoria's death and his return home to my own confessions.”

“Bollocks. He knows we do. He just feels bad.”

“Spare me the pity, James. Your father loves you _so much_. Of _course_ he feels bad.”

“Yeah, well, it's just guilt. It's not about me at all. I don't really matter. It's just about _him_ , innit?”

“Stuff it. You know that isn't true,” Draco grunts firmly. “He's worried most about _you_. You're special to him.”

“No, I'm not,” James sniffs and wipes his face, his voice choking in his throat. “I'm just the oldest. Lily's the only girl, so she gets lots of attention. Albus does because he's the only Slytherin and he's sensitive. I'm just the son they don't have to worry about, 'cause I'm like them. I'm not special. I'm the kid they can rely on to do whatever.”

Draco sighs deeply. “Don't be foolish. You're special _precisely_ for being the eldest, and if they rely upon you, it is out of trust.”

James glares up at him. “Whatever.”

“Don't dismiss that bond simply for your own petulant remorse.” He holds the defensive gaze without falter. “James, you are exactly everything your father ever wanted in life—a healthy, growing, safe and _beloved_ child surrounded by family he didn't have. You are his _firstborn_ , his wish come to _life_.”

Dark brows frown. Hesitation sets into the youth's expression: the hope that he's right, the need to believe it, and yet simultaneously the struggle to accept the easy truth.

Draco nods, confirming, “It was _your_ birth which first fulfilled that need for him, that desire to love and cherish and protect a brood of his own that he refused to lose the way he had his parents. You are your father's first child, and you will _always_ be special—no matter your siblings, the divorce, or _my_ presence. You are _important_ in your own right, and you have a relationship with Harry that _no one_ else does.”

Lips part. Eyes widen in wonder.

James bows his head.

The tears are soft and cutting, besotted with whimpers of tender, crying song.

Draco reaches slowly and clasps his palms over James' broader shoulders, mildly surprised when the kid doesn't throw him off; instead the teen leans into it, letting Draco's weight ground him with the comforting pressure. “Harry's happiness and life belong to _him_ , and I am _lucky_ to be part of it. Your father deserves _far_ more credit than you've been giving him. You say he talks of nothing but me, but that isn't true. He talks about _you_ constantly, you more than your siblings sometimes with me. He's so concerned for you. He fears you will only ever hate him, and he's feared it since the divorce and told me so repeatedly.”

That does it. James brings his head up quickly between Draco's arms, his eyes pained and horrified. “No! No, I don't hate Dad!”

“Then _tell_ him that. Don't shove him away when he tries, for he isn't going anywhere from you. Show him you see his worry and let him _comfort_ you,” Draco retorts with a soft squeeze of his fingers. “Good fathers need to comfort their children—they need to know they _are_ helping, and in your situation, your father knows it is _his_ decisions that have hurt you. He _is_ the cause of some pain, but he also wishes to heal it how he can.”

James trembles under his hands.

The hesitation is in each shake of his body, that wall is broken yet its foundation still stands.

Draco's face falls, but he tries one last time. “Furthermore, your parents are two responsible adults who made decisions with deep consideration of every effect they could possibly have upon you and your siblings, James. They chose what they did knowing what you'd go through in part to teach you something as much as they needed to _breathe_ for themselves—they're showing you that people can love and be mature, considerate and amicable, that life can grow even from bittersweet soil, that _friendship_ endures. You are _not_ _responsible_ for your mother's happiness or your father's new life decisions. You're only responsible for _your_ words and actions.”

Quiet reflection. Astonishment rattles James once more. The wall vibrates with coming change.

He's so close, and Draco gazes over him tenderly, with affection James cannot see with his head tilted down.

“You may think me only poison left in your father's heart and mind, and once in time you would have been correct. My father fed me poison, and it took me a _long_ time to administer the antidote to its pride,” Draco admits regretfully. “But I am not venomous now. I strive to be a shelter for your father, the place he can go when he can't handle the world on his shoulders anymore. And I don't love Harry only to be envious of his children. You're _part_ of him, part of his life, and you're meant to be cherished just as much as my own son should be by your father.”

A tight fist undoes itself at James' side, and then he leans forward.

Draco's eyes become quite round as the messy head of hair presses close and an exhausted, needing brow rubs against his sternum as the wall completely falls.

Emotions wrack through James, quake his young bones and overload his senses, and Draco draws him close with his hands, keeping them upon the kid's shoulders but softer in their hold. Gentle, but firm. Comforting, but not smothering, allowing James to choose to keep the closeness instead. Hands grasp Draco's sides in reflex, and he smiles to himself, nearly as relieved now as he was for Scorpius's hug of him during their own talk. Draco slowly folds his arms down into a hug, returning the soft grab of his ribs.

For the next five minutes they stand in silence punctuated by hiccups and suppressed, small sobs until James slowly releases himself from the moment. He grows more stable with each new breath. Fingers flex and grip his shirt tighter, that tired brow grinds to his chest, and then James slumps a little, spent of energy as he stops crying.

When Draco doesn't speak, James stands very still and hunched within his hug, he whispers, “I really am sorry. For lots of things, but...for earlier. I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Astoria wouldn't bear you ill will, and neither shall I. I appreciate your words, and it is a lesson, James, you won't forget—not unlike lessons I've learned, myself. I forgive you.” Draco's left palm lifts and settles over the dark hair below him. “I won't say you have to be fond of me, though I'd like it if you were someday. You remind me so much of myself in ways I cannot explain, and I want to...be someone for you, someone you feel safe and comfortable around. If you ever _do_ want to talk or need someone _not_ your parents to listen, I will be there if you wish me to be, and anything we say stays between us unless it is of genuine concern...and if so, I would urge you to speak with them, too.”

“So...what we said today....” James trails off, dazed at first. “Dad doesn't have to know it all?”

“No.”

“R-Really?”

“Yes.”

The dark head tilts back, and James looks right up at him. So young a soul he sees therein, continually caught between being a child and growing up in the bridging start of adolescence. “Why not?”

Draco's mouth lifts in a half-smile. “Because it was for you, not him. If you wish to talk about it with him or your mother, be my guest. I won't divulge details without you doing so.”

James stares for a second, and then slowly, so very slowly, he starts to smile the slightest bit.

Draco keeps his own smile, seeing the one mirroring him growing more and more even in its little shyness and curiosity. “Are you all right?”

“Y-Yeah. I think so.”

“Good. It's fine if you're not. I can't tell you how to feel.” Draco rubs the crown of James' head. “Now, I'm going to go get your father. I know he's terrified out there. Take a moment. Breathe.”

Hands fall from his sides, and Draco lets go of James. He turns away for the door, surprised when the grip over his wrist stalls him momentarily. Grey eyes wait patiently. James bites his lip. And then he lets go of Draco's wrist and stares at his feet. “Just...thanks. For forgiving me. For... _all_ of what you said. Maybe you're not... _so_ bad.”

Heart relaxing, Draco smirks. “Perhaps not. You're welcome, James.”

He opens the door and finds Harry sitting on the lower steps watching Lily, Scorpius, and Albus playing with the magical chalk. Harry's head immediately swings like the door when it opens, and wet green eyes watch him step down with held breath.

Draco offers his hand. Harry takes it. And he hauls his worried love to his tired feet.

“Is he...?” Harry blows air through his teeth. “Draco, are you—”

“I'm fine, and he'll be okay,” Draco replies and points his head to the door. “Go on. Right now I need to breathe for myself, and he needs you, Harry. Worry over me when you're finished, and _no_ , you're not ignoring me by going in there.”

Harry nods and clenches Draco's fingers still held with his own, and it's there. He sees it all there, the fear and sadness and regret and the _hope_ still, no matter what. “I _am_ sorry for earlier.”

“I had my words about it. He's given me sincere apology. Don't punish him after we've spoken and I've forgiven him. Let that go and focus on the rest.”

“You're sure, Draco?”

“Yes.”

“You used to fear not deserving your son,” Harry says near his ear, “but I fear not deserving _your_ love anymore.”

With a fast glance to the walk out into the Alley, Draco grabs the back of Harry's head for a serious, emotional kiss of understanding and gratitude and _everything_. Harry smiles at him and goes striding through the door with that protection Potter's always carried—with that look of preparation that has been part of Harry Potter since his first year of Hogwarts in Draco's eyes.

Draco stands near the cracked open door, listening to Lily laugh before him as a drawn puffskein changes colors with the magic chalk and the boys try to charm it green against her desired blue. But to his right there inside the flat through that door, he can make out Harry stopping near James with his hands upon his son's arms. Murmurs are soft enough that no words carry outside, and for that Draco is grateful.

Just as he moves to close the door out of respect, he sees something, an image that strikes him like lightning with its power and significance.

It's the very thing he's been waiting for.

And he knows, right then and there, that if James could only _see_ it through his eyes, if he could see the way the father and son hold each other tightly with love and tears and forgiveness, then maybe James Sirius Potter wouldn't be so afraid or guilty anymore.

  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [You made it. :) And it can only grow from here.  
> Until next update, best regards.  
> the_never_was]


	61. p i s t a c h i o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

  
   


 

 

61.

  
p i s t a c h i o

  
  

That next morning the image of Harry and James hasn't yet left his mind. Can't. Won't.

For now he has what he's needed, but the next quandary becomes what to _do_ with it.

His body moves, his hands retrieve lights and décor alongside Scorpius's helpful wand, but his mind is caught in a loop of time and pressure and one final, slight block.

Scorpius breaks the hold of damn thing on his mind, thankfully, by sweetly saying, “Father, we can't take the lights down.”

“Why not?”

“Well,” his son mumbles and gestures with the red velvet hat in his hands, “Mother's got one. Remember?”

Draco exhales, recalling the glass bulb he'd charmed to her stone. He immediately understands. “I'll charm it separately with a different spell so she always has access to it—a light like Albus's lamp.”

“Okay. I just don't want her to go without it.”

“She won't,” Draco swears, fingers brushing its long ribbons. He nods. “I promise.”

Scorpius starts floating boxes upstairs to store in the attic, leaving Draco stuck in his head again. It's as he's thinking about memories and charms and pensieves that he hears soft magic sigh into the house. Draco glances to the Floo and smiles as Harry slips through in his work uniform, stunning from his wild hair to his boots.

They stare at one another in greeting, and then Harry comes around the furniture and stands by his side near the plain tree. Draco reaches, rubbing up and down Harry's stiff back, and Harry removes his glasses, holding them in his fingers as his palm rubs his tired face.

It's quiet for another minute or two, companionable, and then Harry mumbles, “Ginny, James, and I had a...talk before dinner last night. We want him to learn ways to express himself clearly...and, as you apparently told him, to know what he's responsible for and what he isn't.”

Draco exhales, hand stilling slightly in its routine. “Harry, I—”

“You don't have to explain. Honestly, Draco, he needed to hear it. He isn't taken for granted for being the eldest. He was _never_ in the way of my life. He can be upset, but lashing out at everyone isn't helpful to his emotions, either. He needs to keep _communicating_ with us.”  
  
“I take it he spoke with you about things we said.”

“Yes. And what you told him, Draco, means more than I can say.” Harry smiles and wipes his eyelids. “Ginny also said she hoped you didn't feel James got his attitude about Astoria from her.”

Draco dismisses the concern, his touch tracing patterns over Harry's shoulders. “Didn't even consider it.”

“Good. I'm glad.” Harry shakes his head softly, green eyes on the equally green tree. “I don't know how you did it. I felt mad trying to juggle all of this, and there I was _sick_ outside worried about the pair of you, and then you...just...emerged so calmly. And I went inside to find my son not only acting accountable, but more...open. More affectionate, less afraid of whatever he'd feared before. That is your effect, Draco. You gave him strength he needed.”

Draco looks to Harry's held glasses, shrugging with reddened cheeks. “Just gave him perspective, Harry.”

“Uh huh.” His partner side-eyes him knowingly, adding, “He mentioned you told him the pair of you were...alike. That you were trying to teach him a lesson you'd learned the hard way about words having consequences.”

“Oh?” Draco asks distantly as the pleased turn of his partner's lips starts to tease into being.

They stand before the tree as if in a forest. Eyes holding, searching, _seeing_ , the house falls away in their minds, allowing them to share a moment of something both profound and accepted.

Draco holds Harry's gaze, grey eyes clear as the winter sky without its fog today.

And then the playfulness gently slides away into something more serious.

“I know my son has no idea how _huge_ of an admission that is, but _I_ do,” Harry admits and shifts as he repositions his glasses. His partner brightens as if the lights were still adorning the tree next to him, the emotions so authentic and happily lit in his face. “I'm so proud of you, babe. I know how far you've come, how much you've let go and given up to get to where you are. I know where some changes come from, and I've seen results of others. And I'm _grateful_ to you for sharing that advice with James, even if he can't truly appreciate its depth yet.”

Draco shyly avoids Harry's smile by clearing his throat. “Yes, well, anybody could have told him something similar.”

“No, Draco. It wouldn't have meant the same.”

“Perhaps,” he agrees softly, feeling fulfilled inside nearly as much as he had during James' hug.

Harry takes his hand and leads him to the sofa; together they collapse upon it, both of them pausing as they can hear Scorpius moving back down the attic ladder for another box to float up and store. Harry searches Draco's eyes and then he lovingly pushes Draco against the cushions and presses closely. Fingers fold together over Draco's thigh, and Harry's free hand massages up his chest to grip the back of his head. A stubbly jaw grazes his own. Thinner, soft lips brush his with dominating intent, and Draco's eyes close, his mouth surrendering to that possessiveness that has always existed within Potter.  
  
For even in darkest rivalry, no one could claim Draco's attention, his very focus, but Him.

The deep, connecting kiss grounds Draco to the sofa, the floor and the earth below it, and when it breaks, those green eyes of fate peer straight into him. The abyss dares him to gaze into itself once more.

“I need to know, Draco,” Harry begins, thumb stroking his lower lip. “I need to know before I go to work. You said you were fine again when you left yesterday, but...are you _really_ all right?”

Draco sighs, heavy and heady and tired as hell, and kisses the pad of Harry's thumb. “Yes.”

Harry doesn't buy it. Strong fingers squeeze their held hands. “Draco.”

He sniffs once, able to keep the emotions at bay as his son's steps echo louder. “I miss her, Harry. That's all.”

Harry kisses the hollow of his cheek.

Scorpius starts to hum in the upper hall, and the sadness twinges within him.

“I don't want Scorpius to go,” Draco confesses, trapped in the abyss still holding him captive. “I know he must, and I want him to enjoy school, but I _like_ the time we've had. It's given us our bond the way it should have always been. I'm a selfish father in the end, no?”

“You're not selfish for wanting more time with your son after all this, Draco.”

Draco lets go of Harry's hand and pushes to his feet, pacing back and forth in the soft white shirt and dark emerald silky material clinging to his legs and slippers. His hands gesture as he makes laps in front of the sofa, and he whispers, “I've been such a fucking _failure_ as a father most of his life. But I won't be anymore. I walled my grief as best I could to keep it from weighing him down, but I think that made it worse—made him feel he couldn't connect with me. I've been trying _so_ hard, trying to do what I feel is right when I've never done this before as a single parent.”

“You're doing  _well_ , Draco. Seriously. Instead of walling up lately, you're sharing your feelings and grief together. Scorpius has seemed so _happy_ over break, despite missing her, and that is because of _you_. He's had a good holiday because of you—your openness, your trust in each other, and your affection. He smiles when he simply _looks_ at you. Take a little credit, babe.”

Draco's lip twitches into a small smile. “I will, Harry. Thank you.”

Harry rests back over the high cushions, the robes parted to bare the sexy uniform taut over his chest. His dark grey wool trousers wrinkle from the way he adjusts his legs.

Draco pauses, wipes hair from his eyes, and moves again. Harry's eyes follow him behind the handsome glasses, and that kissable mouth frowns in a small twist to the side. With the lesson learned that prior afternoon, they both stay quiet and listening for any steps rounding the banister before they speak again.

“Really, it sounds like you're just angry you weren't this open before,” Harry says when Scorpius grumbles incoherently above them when a _thump_ strikes the ceiling somewhere. “It's bothering you, making you feel you wasted time or hurt him for it.”

Fingers clench at his sides. His head falls forward in shame, his voice an echo of itself. “Yes.”

“Draco, focus on now. Focus on what's grown and what's good. And keep it going. You'll miss him, and it'll get rough sometimes, but you know he'll be okay. You know he'll miss you, too.” Harry considers him, hopeful and genuine, and his head tilts to an angle. “It'll be all right. I promise.”

Draco looks to his love all leaned back and sexy over the sofa, like a stretched king of a lion. It makes him want to curl over the gorgeous Gryffindor and force him to take another day off work. “I believe you, Harry. I simply wish I had more time this way—trying to make up for his childhood with him still young enough. He's already grown so much without me. I fear how much more he shall by the next summer.”

“Hell, he'll be your height in another year or two.”

“Madness,” Draco laughs, imagining it. “Merlin.”

“What's madness?” Scorpius asks from the upstairs hall.

“By fourth or fifth year, you could be _my_ height.”

“I hope so!” Scorpius calls, and Harry titters softly. “I could be one of the tallest in my year!”

Draco crosses his arms, looking to the stairwell as Scorpius starts to dash about it. “Bugger. Can't stay this size just a _little_ longer?”

His son pads down the last few steps, grinning. “Nope.”

Draco carefully watches the exact moment that Scorpius notes Harry's presence, and to his heart's wonderful contentment, he sees no sudden hesitation in his son at all. Scorpius merely waves as he continues into the room and plops onto a chair. “Hi, Mr. Potter.”

“Hey, Scorpius,” Harry winks. “Thought I'd come by and check on your dad.”

“After...yesterday, you mean,” Scorpius states, making both Harry and Draco awkwardly wince. “We heard the arguing, you know, but James seemed...better when we went back inside, so Albus figured it must have been okay.”

Harry runs a hand through his dark hair. “Yeah, it's fine. He's okay. Been busy this morning?”

Scorpius swings his legs over the chair's end, feet dragging against the edge of the rug. “We started taking down decorations. Father says we'll be too busy...the next few days.”

Draco moves behind the chair and pats the pale head below him. “That we will. More to pick up for _you_ , errands to run, preparations to make.”

“We're waiting on Pansy,” Scorpius explains with a yawn. “She wanted to go shopping with us this afternoon.”

Father and son both snicker as Harry expectedly tenses and then tries to nod amicably. “Well, I'm...sure...that'll be a lovely time.”

“Come now, Potter. She's growing fond of you, just as you are her. Don't lie.”

“Like a bird circling the Whomping Willow, maybe.”

Draco cackles and comes to the sofa as the clock strikes. He holds a palm out, and Harry takes it, pulling himself to his feet. Robes straighten, Harry lifts his head, and Draco feels the smaller grey eyes upon his back as he smoothes Harry's collar and tucks a wild lock away from his brow.

He eyes that bold scar, the one that's never faded like those over his stomach, and he leans forward to kiss it. Harry's lids are closed when he slowly withdraws, and Draco pecks his masculine cheekbone, cups the sensual jaw, and presses one last kiss to Harry's lips.

“Love you,” Draco murmurs. His expression narrows. “Stay safe. No pixies or kleptomaniacs.”

Harry's jaw flexes, and he nods. “Paperwork today. Don't worry. Ron and I are figuring out some...terms. I'll let you know as we settle them. Have fun today.”

“I'm sure she'll shove us into more shops until we do.”

Scorpius chuckles adorably from his chair, and Harry winks over Draco's shoulder. The green slides over his face one last time, and Harry nuzzles his brow. He steps away and grabs for the silver powder in its jar. Eyes like springtime and tenderness flick over the pale Slytherins. “Love you. Keep an eye on your dad for me, Scorpius.”

His son smiles broadly, pushing up out of the chair and taking his hand at his side. “Sure.”

Draco's heart catches as Harry Floos out. He glances to the pale head below him, and his arm tucks around Scorpius's torso. Lips smile against his son's hair. “What do you think of him now?”

“I think he makes you happy.”

“Anything else?”

“I think you make him happy.”

“Scorpius, do you...like him? Do you...trust him more?”

Draco doesn't breathe as he son whispers, “Yes, Father. He might be the Boy-Who-Lived to some, but to me...he's just Mr. Potter.”

Draco's mouth opens in thankful silence, at the wonder of how much those words would mean to Harry if he'd only _heard_ them a second ago.  
  
Scorpius becomes nervous and nudges him. “Is that bad?”

His bubbled laugh surprises Scorpius, but the boy laughs, too.

“No,” he answers with a tap to Scorpius's pointy nose. “Not at all.”

 

 

   



	62. p e r s i m m o n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

 

 

62.

 

p e r s i m m o n

  
  


“Well, well. Didn't think I'd _ever_ see _you_ walk in here. What balls.”

“Weasley.”

“Malfoy,” George Weasley grins, brows bouncing.

Draco takes him in, looks the lone twin over from head-to-toe, surprised at how little the man has changed over so many years. The red hair is still about similar length as he remembers, still parted the same way, too, and that all knowing expression of cleverness seems to have never left George's face. It's been enhanced, though, with an underlying layer of bittersweet melancholy tempered with determination.

With Pansy occupying Scorpius's attention by taking him for purchases for Astoria's owl, Draco had strolled over to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes with some excuse of needing to check on something somewhere nearby. He'd barely entered the shop and taken in all the splendor and sounds with nostalgic wistfulness and a little remorse before George Weasley himself had sauntered right over; the tall ginger had come between he and a tall stack of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, muttering, “No, no more for _you_ ever again.”

Weasley now jerks his head, and Draco pushes through the wondrous displays of working toys, sparkling products, and loud noises with customers and workers in the midst of it all. Draco follows Ginny's older brother into a back office of sorts, watching as George flops down upon his desk's edge. “So, just how can I help _you_? Harry send you for something, Snake?”

“No. I'm here of my own volition.”

“Are you now?”

“Yes.”

George speculates, fingertips resting together beneath his chin, elbows upon his knees. “Do enlighten me, Malfoy. Need something to send in post? Something that'll ooze when it's opened? Should I even _dare_ consider _your_ patronage again?”

Draco huffs, but he takes a seat nearby. One long leg folds over the other as his hands rest upon the arms. “I've come with a challenge for you.”

George's eyes light up. “That so?”

“Yes, and before you can _think_ of how to temper with it to toy with _me_ , know it isn't for me. It's for your nephew.”

The prepared smirk falls from George's face, and Weasley grows quite serious. “Which nephew?”

“James.”

“James?” George questions with deadly, protective familial love shining in his eyes.

Draco nods, foot swinging in the air with a slight beat. “Yes. I've collected a gift of meaning for each of Harry's children to have with the coming year, something...for them to see that I know their individual worths and wish to look to the future on good terms. The gift for James has been most difficult to figure out.”

“I bet,” George agrees, making Draco's brow slide up. “He might be into some stuff, but none of that crap really _matters_ to him on a deeper level. He's a kid of gestures, and he won't be _bought_ by one, either. He knows what's rubbish—and _who_.”

Teeth worry his lower lip, and Draco sighs. “So I've learned. We've had our fights and progressions. Nonetheless, I _don't_ desire to buy his affection. I'm hoping what I've considered would be something special to remind him of his own importance in his father's life.”

Ginger brows arch. George tilts his face. “Bloody hell. Look at you being thoughtful.”

“Stuff it. There's a problem. A few.”

Weasley crosses his arms over his dark cream jumper. “And the first is?”

Draco smirks. “What I need is in my head.”

“In your head.”

“You heard me.”

“And just what do you expect _me_ to do, Malfoy?” George asks him, baffled but very curious. “How do you expect me to extract it out of that Slytherin skull of yours? Give it a good whack with a Beater's club? I've still got mine, you know.”

Draco glares.

Hands hold up peacefully beneath a smirk of mischief. “Oh, all right. What is it? A spell thing or a potion extract?”

Draco's forefinger rests to his right temple as he says, “A memory.”

George scrunches his nose, exasperated and confused. “Cry him a tear and bottle it then, idiot. Buy him a pensieve. Done. Merlin, what could you need _me_ for?”

“I need your damn _brain_ , Weasley,” Draco tries again, pressuring the side of his head more. “Think! Of course I can give him the memory. But pensieves are large. Noticeable. Likely disallowed for students to use. He _needs_ something small, hidden, and accessible.”

George pauses, and Draco sees him thinking deeply. Draco sighs, relieved, for he's caught Weasley's interest perfectly. “A pensieve in plain sight.”

“Yes. Something he can easily look at whenever. It must be formed for his convenience.”

“You're expecting me to replicate a magical and alchemical process, shrink it somehow, transfigure it into something else, and keep its original usage? Brilliant, but daft. Absolutely daft. I know plenty, but I've _not_ got the know-how on some of that lot.”

“Prattle all you like, Weasley, but I think it could be done. You've gotten rather clever in this shop of yours, or so I've heard from my sources over the years,” Draco commends him with a grand gesture of his left hand in the office. “You've built something great and gone well beyond all the fun you gave us in school. You're still clever and madly brilliant, and I know...I know your brother is some of the motivation for that. So imagine what he could see in this project. It may not explode or be fun, but it requires _cleverness_. How would he have thought of a way to accomplish this?”

Weasley stares him down intensely, gauging him hotly. “Careful, mate, just where you're steppin'. Fred's name carries more weight than you ever will.”

“I meant no disrespect.”

“Your days of dastardly deeds are well and done, then, hm?”

“I've...changed since the War. Disowned family tradition. Had a son.”

“And came out for Harry!” George snickers at him with a wink. “Oh yeah, I've heard _all_ about it. Harry wouldn't shut up about you when Mum prepared breakfast with the adults. Poor sod probably thought we might not give you much chance at first if he didn't. But Fred and I used to wonder in school, you know—about you and your nagging of him. Explains _a lot_ , eh?”

Draco rolls his eyes far back into this head. He sits back and crosses his arms. “Go on, then. Get it out of your system.”

The grin is flashy and terribly satisfied as George sucks in a breath and launches verbally, “Always picking on Harry, pranking him, being a right arse just to get his attention. How rude. How awful. Couldn't have just told him ya fancied him, oh no. Had to be a prat to hide the fact that you were just _shy_. Didn't anyone teach you that abusing someone isn't affection? It's fucking abuse.”

“Much of my stupidity back then was a result of some other factors. I shan't excuse what I've done, regardless. He knows I have my regrets. He has his own, too.”

“Some other factors, mm? I'm gonna guess a tall, scowling Death Eater was one—Lucius Malfoy with his sneer and matching cane. What a fuckin' nightmare. If his nose turned up any higher, he'd sniff his eyeballs.”

“Are you quite finished, Weasley?”

George chuckles, and then he shoves off his desk and goes around behind it, digging through drawers for some parchment and ink. “Almost. I've been thinkin' about this. You toss in some competitive rivalry, sprinkle some _interesting_ tension somewhere in that lot, and add a dash of eyes holding _just_ that second too long...and, well...apparently after all that simmers in a cauldron for some years, you get this _partner_ thing, huh. Went for it, didn't ya, Malfoy? Finally grew a pair and treated Harry _right_.”

Draco holds his steady chastised look despite his very red cheeks through sheer will. “More like he went for _me_ , and I gave the hell up, and _yes_ , I treat him right.”

“Okay, okay, I'm done,” Weasley says, brushing his hands as if clearing away the topic. “Give me a moment.”

George's brain kicks into gear as he grabs a quill and starts writing down notes, seeming to forget Draco's very presence. Draco waits patiently for almost ten silent minutes, watching Weasley scratch out words and then write faster, even doodling some odd shapes as well.

Draco tries not to eyeball the parchment with hope.

George finally takes a loud breath and dabs the parchment with the nib repeatedly near something he's written. “Okay, I have _one_ idea. Like one genuinely this-might-actually-work idea. This is a wild concept I could totally use out front, and if it works, Malfoy, I'll even put your name on it as an inventor—you know, down below all the disclaimers where none'll look, but there nonetheless. Imagine kids wanting to see their friends or family or whatnot when they're...havin' a rough go. Imagine charming the tools so other kids trying to tamper with it get coated in nefarious liquids or minor hexes. _So_ many angles here.”

“Let's hear it, Weasley,” Draco demands, hopeful and eager.

“Well, the first challenge is you need something that stays consistent. We're talking my nephew, who _is_ very smart and clever, but having an object constantly needing to change size might be bad if he gets interrupted with it—say he sneaks it in class or the like. And I don't know how accurate it would be with that flexing, you know. All foggy, murky, bleh. Gotta go inside to see the memory play out, so it can't be too big nor too little. At the least it's gotta channel the same way with even a fingertip.”

“Yes, and?”

“Right. So, Angelina—my wife—she likes this art style...it's some method her cousin saw muggles make. People build puzzle boxes out of wood, right, that you can just slide all sorts of pieces that are hidden and it unlocks. Can be as complicated as you want,” George explains, eyes sliding up to him determinedly. “I'm wondering...if maybe...we can make a box that fits in his hand that slides open with a set method and reveals a shrunk pensieve bowl inside, charmed to keep the fluid steady. Then he can add the memory or remove it whenever and keep it safe and private. Something unassuming so professors aren't an issue.”

Draco sits forward excitedly. “And it's accessible, portable, and easy. Brilliant, Weasley.”

“Gotta run tests to be sure it's even possible to use at such a size—we're talking _small_ , Malfoy. Never done this before to know if it'll be anything more than an abstract blob, if it'll even work as normal, and...well, there's always a risk of...damage to the memory, be it successful or total failure.”

“I have to try _something_. I need to try. Perhaps even creating a small pensieve itself.”

George snorts. “What _I'll_ need is your memory and a regular pensieve for study, unless you've got access to one already.”

“I don't.” Perhaps he should have one, he thinks to himself.

“Really thought this one out, didn't ya, Snake?” George mutters, fumbling about his main desk drawer before turning to shelves behind him. He finds a small bottle and tosses it to Draco with a grin. “Want me to get the club and send a bludger at you for old times' sake? Just one good _whack_ , and our differences are forever settled, Malfoy, ol' boy. _Promise._ ”

Draco sits there holding the glass, completely uncomfortable and genuinely concerned that Weasley _means_ it when George says nothing else at all.

George finally laughs. “Wow, your fucking face! I'm winding you up, don't worry. Harry would have a damn litter of kittens if I even joked about it around him. Just focus and pull it from your head with your wand, Malfoy. Unless you _want_ to cry. Then, by all means, do.”

With one slightly obscene gesture of his hand that has Weasley barking in laughter across from him, Draco pulls his wand from his robe pocket and closes his eyes. He calls up that moment as clearly as he can, focuses upon that instant of Harry and James standing together in the living room, and he softly begins the extraction process with his wand's tip touching his temple.

The sensation is weird, not unlike an odd squiggle of fluid in his inner ear, but he bears it and tugs the memory out of his mind. Grey eyes open upon the bit of silvery material floating before him, and he stares at it, slightly astonished.

“Bottle it, quick,” George warns him, startling Draco.

Draco pops the cork on the bottle, slides the memory over it, and carefully drops it inside the glass, sealing it after with a gentle, nervous movement. He hands it over to George's waiting palm, hovering above the large hand with his own warning in his gaze. “Do _not_ destroy this memory. If you feel too nervous or have trouble executing your plans, just give up, and I'll let him see it in the pensieve and keep the bottle. He must see it once intact, at the least. It's vital.”

“What is it?”

“You'll see it when you do, and you'll tell no one, especially Harry, about this. I don't want attention or praise for the idea or deed. I just want James to see what I do. Your nephew is as stubborn as his father is, and...well, he reminds me of myself in some ways, too.”

“That's a scary thought. And supposedly you _love_ that stubborn father of his.”

“I do, Weasley, every damn bit of him,” Draco replies seriously, blushing all the same. “So?”

To his surprise, George's smile fades. “You have my word, Malfoy, not only as a businessman, but as an uncle. I'll take care of it.”

“Thank you,” Draco whispers as he settles the glass into the waiting hand and feels strong fingers close over it protectively.

George stares at him, obviously wondering just what the memory could hold.

And Draco gets up, pulls a sack of galleons from his pocket, and drops it upon the desk. “Get what you need. Keep any change. Charge more if necessary.”

“Nah,” George says, shocking him as he shoves the bag of gold back. “Keep it, Malfoy.”

“You're...certain? Pensieves are _expensive_ , aren't they?”

“Yeah, but this isn't for you. It's for James, and that boy's had a rough couple of months. I tried to pull him out of it a little at Christmas, but it wasn't enough. Couldn't be, obviously. I'm not his dad or his mum or anything. But...if this helps?” George exhales heavily. His eyes bore up into Draco's. “If this helps him, that's all I want. It works, I'll see about running it as a possible venture in the shop. And...hell, might make one for myself.”

Draco nods, thankful. “Thank you. I need it _soon_. He must get it before he leaves. You have, at maximum, a few days. I want it in two if possible, or at the very least, I want the memory and pensieve if trial becomes error. I know it's...a rush, but...the memory formed _literally_ yesterday.”

George Weasley sets the the corked bottle upon his desk and leans back in his chair with a loud crack of his knuckles. “Then it sounds like I'd better get started tracking down a stupid bowl. You know the door, Snake. And tell Maisie out front I said to send you home with some Whiz-bangs. Something for your kid, not for _you_.”

Draco smirks at the grin teasing him, and he turns away hopeful and begging Fate or life or _whatever_ holds all the damn strings to make this work—to let one brilliant mind do its absolute best.

  
  
  
  
  
  



	63. c o r n s i l k

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

 

 

63.

 

c o r n s i l k

 

 

The next two days are surreal.

His mind is rather like the old grandfather clock if it were stuck, unable to chime except for the most jarring of moments, skipping hours before it sounds whilst other times repeating itself within seconds. Thoughts come and go both rapidly and sluggishly, and he sleeps fitfully, rolling about in the blankets to the sounds of the thorny bushes tapping the window in the wind.

Scorpius spends the days packing and repacking his trunk with every little possession or piece of clothing he'd initially forgotten, and Draco endures a fair amount of that time wincing with each heavy creak and echo of the trunk's lid upstairs. The broom is wrapped with care to await the summer, resting in the corner of the living room in its case.

There doesn't seem to be distraction in the world enough for him between his growing nervousness at his son's coming departure and the continued silence from George Weasley in his shop in the Alley. So Draco is both thankful and annoyed the following morning upon checking his private calendar.

He goes into Scorpius's room to find him sitting upright in bed reading over an assignment in preparation. “Get ready. I've an appointment with my business associate.”

Scorpius scrunches his nose.

Draco chuckles. He knows how boring it has always been for his son to accompany him to the meetings in the past. “Well, can't be helped _now_. Changing it in the past required a day's notice, at least, not an hour's.”

“Father?”

“Hm?”

“How long would it take?”

“Not long. Less than an hour.”

“Then...can I...stay home and read?”

His brows arch.

So many _firsts_ over this break with his growing son. It's hard to keep up.

Draco tilts his face, bittersweetly warm inside from how mature Scorpius manages to look there in his silky night clothes still. “You're...sure you wish to do so?”

Scorpius straightens his shoulders adorably. “I can be by myself. I've found my way around Hogwarts for two years now, almost. I've kept up my schedules, never missed an assignment. Trust me, Father. I can handle this.”

The little clock in the bedroom ticks as Draco pretends to think deeply about it.

His son had behaved him well over the New Year's Eve. Had returned promptly after breakfast the next morning with a half-full bag of gold and some souvenirs for the both of them.

Scorpius stays perfectly postured from the waist up and swallows softly, his grey eyes hopeful. Draco's heart squeezes in his chest at how _lucky_ of a father he really is to have this wonderful child.

He nods. “I have your word that you will _not_ leave the house when I'm gone—no broom, no wandering. The doors stay locked.”

Scorpius beams at him brightly, and his shoulders slouch finally just a smidge. “Yes, Father.”

Draco sighs gently. “Very well.”

“Yes! Thank you! I'll be fine, I promise.”

“You'd better. This is the one time you can't disobey me, son. You've no idea what it would mean to me if you did.”

“I won't. I'll stay inside. I've plenty of reading to do.”

“If Pansy shows through the Floo, she can wait around.”

“Okay.”

“Do you need me to get anything?”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I've got everything. I've checked four times already.”

Draco snickers. “Very well. I'll be back as soon as I can, before lunch.”

“Take your time.”

“ _Scorpius_ ,” Draco teases with a winged brow, and he closes Scorpius's door to the sound of his son's giggle. It continues within him, that little laugh, as he forces himself to grab the Floo powder and make for the Ministry alone, his heart praying Astoria will watch over their son.

Draco quickly Floos and walks his usual path into the Ministry and sits, himself, bored in the meeting the way his son would have been. The accounts are checked as always, his returns carefully considered in his investments, and Draco leaves the man's office and goes back down the hall, glancing to the clock on the wall and thinking of the little game he'd once played with an unknowing Potter.

It seems so long ago when really it's been months. _Months_. Late last spring, to be exact.

So much change in less than a single year.

The awareness sets into him, that pausing consideration of life's slowing down and speeding up, a wheeled Chariot when it is ready for him and he for it.

He's honestly a bit in shock by the time he notices he's gone for the elevator without remembering a single step he's taken to get there. A hand slowly lifts and his forefinger presses the call button, his unblinking eyes drying with the strangest blend of happiness and bafflement, with curiosity as to what _another_ year might bring in terms of more change.

And just as he goes to close the elevator doors, he catches her strolling down to him once again.

This time he holds it without a grudging thought.

This time his jaw doesn't lock.

This time when she enters and the doors close, there is no tense silence, no prepared sneers, no rightfully angry questions or shocking advice.

There's just the acceptance she'd held inside her then. Only now...now it is free.

“Malfoy. Been to see Harry?” she asks, staring at the lights clicking down the floors.

“Business meeting. Scorpius wanted to try being home on his own for it, so I...relented.”

“And now you're rushing to get back.” Ginny's lip lifts in a little smile. “I remember the first time James asked us to wander the Alley by himself last year. I thought Harry was going to panic, and I had to _remind_ him of how he was at that age. And he said to me, 'I _know_ , Ginny! That's _why_ I'm terrified.'”

Draco laughs loudly, brightly, surprising the both of them in the small space. He calms, his spirits lifted. “Even Potter truly gets his comeuppance. Excellent. I refuse to be the only one.”

“Trust me he has. Plenty over the years.”

“As he deserves, the blessed scoundrel. Could you imagine our children doing _half_ the shit he did? Or I did? Hell, what we did together? Merlin, I'd stroke if I got a single letter about Scorpius being in detention as I was, let alone serving it in the Forest. He'd be grounded so fast the owl would have whiplash trying to deliver the letters to both he _and_ the professors responsible for _that_ punishment.”

“How do you think my parents felt learning about Harry and Ron _flying_ Dad's muggle car to school?” Ginny snorts when he shakes his head. “Harry finally agreed to let him explore a bit with him waiting in the flat, but it took some convincing at first. James is...doing well, by the way. Calmer than he's been. I hear I have you to thank.”

Draco checks over his clean nails. “He wasn't the only one who needed that talk.”

Ginny tries not to smirk. Curiously, after a few comfortable quiet seconds, her eyes dart up to his and then focus on the door. “I, um...had a letter in my locker waiting for me on New Year's Eve. I think Zabini saw all the kids in the box watching and backed off a bit about dinner things.”

Draco's mouth twists to the side. “And?”

“And I _may_ have just come from his office. A meeting of my own.”

“Oh _really_.”

“Yes. I told him his interest... _is_...flattering, I suppose, but unrealistic at this point. Not because...well, not because I don't think I couldn't ever be interested, but I'm simply _not_ ready. I don't know him well enough, either, to start anything like that. I said he'd have to _bare_ himself and step down from his high pedestal, the arse.”

“ _Well_ , then. I assume he respected your decision,” Draco speaks, frowning. “He had _better_. The line of people willing to hex him is rather long, given your family.”

“He did. He knows what could come his way from _me_ first, if he hadn't.”

“True, you danger. I'm lucky you've left me with both balls intact after the last months.”

“Excuse _you_. I've been mature. Understanding.”

“I know. I appreciate that greatly,” Draco confesses. “On Harry's behalf as well as my own.”

Ginny bites her lip. “Good, Malfoy. Besides, I hear _Hermione_ knows how to hit you best.”

Draco playfully sneers as Ginny snorts, her long red hair shining in the soft light.

They exit together, both strolling for the Floo lines.

“He said he understood,” Ginny whispers as they pass a few bustling workers. “Asked if he could continue to go to matches, as if I can tell a fan to piss off when he's 'bowing out' so gracefully with rejection. But I'm onto him, Malfoy. He's sincere, but he's hopeful. It's absolutely weird.”

“He respects you, as I've said,” Draco whispers back, pressing close to her side when they weave about the slowly dispersing crowd. “Poor bastard doesn't stand a chance against that Weasley stubbornness, though.”

“Shove off. You are the _definition_ of stubbornness,” she scoffs. “You and Harry both.”

“I'm well aware. My point was far from criticism, I assure you. Applause, really.”

Her soft half of a laugh catches his attention. “He _did_ mention a few scheduled trips for work are coming, so he's going to be quite busy, but he said he'd...make the time to write if I wanted to do so. I said yes, because _I_ can control how and when or if I even reply to them. My agreement seemed to please him, 'cause he got that stupid smug smile on his face."  
  
"Bastard's always looked like that."

Ginny's blue eyes flash as she steps up for the nearest Floo. “If he's genuinely serious about putting the past behind us and starting from scratch, then I want the proof. Scary thing is, I think he'll give it to me.”

“He's House driven with ambition to do so. He'll prove his worth, his friendship's worth, and anything else if you give him the chance in time.” Draco steps over to the Floo next to hers and prepares it. “Admit it. You like him. A _little_ bit.”

“Do _not_ ,” Ginny grumbles, her cheeks rosy as hell. She bites her lip, rolls her eyes, and glares his way once. “Don't look at me like that. I _don't_. I...ugh, maybe a _tiny_ bit. You will _not_ repeat that, Malfoy.” 

Draco zips his fingertips across his lips, laughs as she tosses her silver powder in fluster, and uses his Floo, still oddly moved by that bit of blushing defiance in her face.

When he exits his own Floo into the house, he finds Scorpius sitting on the sofa staring toward the hall angled to the parlor, wand in hand. Draco immediately stiffens up, and his hand pulls his own wand from his coat pocket. “What is it?”

“I don't know, Father. I thought I heard someone knock a few minutes ago, but I promised I wouldn't open the door and check.” Scorpius scratches his head. “Sure _sounded_ like someone not happy out there. They know our surname. I think they were yelling at you.”

“Go upstairs and be quiet,” Draco orders, wand held tightly as he walks cautiously. Scorpius obeys him without hesitation. Tension rises up within him when he crosses the parlor, and his free fingers _carefully_ unlock the door. His hand slips over the doorknob, wand ready and raised, and he rips the wood open quickly to startle the person on the other side, an _Expelliarmus_ prepared if need be at his mouth.

But there, on the other side of his door, stands a bored looking George Weasley who is _not_ happy about a wand in his face.

George rolls his eyes _much_ like his sister minutes before, and he stares down the lowering tip of the hawthorn wand, unafraid behind part of his bright red scarf. “Sheesh, Malfoy, this how you greet _every_ person who knocks at your damn door?”

“No,” Draco mutters, withdrawing for Weasley to enter. “My...son...was home briefly alone whilst I ran an errand, and I'd told him to keep the door locked. He was concerned by the noise of your knock.”

George shrugs out of his coat and slings it on the rack with a bit of cringing awareness. “Ah. Oops. I...may have banged a bit hard, and uh...you know. Called you a few things after waiting. Was giving you another _two_ minutes before I left.”

“I was expecting an owl.”

“Yeah, well, Ginny told me you lived here. Seemed easier to just show you.”

“Have you got something for me, then?”

“You think I'd have come all this way if I didn't?”

“Fantastic,” Draco says, completely relieved and hopeful. He gestures for George to follow him to his study, and when they cross the living room with Weasley looking all about, Draco notes the pale hair sticking around the banister where Scorpius is peeking. “It's fine, Scorpius.”

“Yeah,” George says with a little awkward wave as Scorpius scoots around to sit at the top of the stairs. “It was just me. I'm Albus's uncle, George Weasley.”

“You own the fun shop,” Scorpius says excitedly.

Weasley nods pleasantly and shifts the bag in his hand to quickly ruffle the hair from his face and back against the crown of his head. “That I do, kiddo. Should pop in sometime. With Albus, not your old man. He's banned. We'll get you set up with a family discount on account of you being Albus's best mate. What d'you say?”

Draco huffs with a raise of his shoulders.

Scorpius's eyes are wide, and when he just nods gratefully but silently, Draco turns about, puzzled, to look at George closer, and then he sees. Weasley catches the pair of them staring at the odd angle one ear tip is now sticking out from his hair, and he brushes the ginger strands back a bit more. Draco closes his eyes when he understands. Weasley, thankfully, is tactful.

“Had a nasty bit of injury in the War,” George explains to Scorpius on the stairs. “Sometimes I wear a false ear. Keeps my hats from sittin' funny, you know? Can't go about droopy to the side anymore. Not since I caught the tip of my one hat on fire at work.”

Scorpius shyly nods. “Albus...mentioned...it once.”

George grins and adjusts his hair over the ear again. “I bet. He was there when I accidentally lost my first prosthetic in a batch of absorbing glitter slime I'd been trying out. Never found it again, but it must be quite fabulous somewhere in the old vat. Glitter _everywhere_. Not even _magic_ clears that crap all the way out of existence.”

Draco's tight lips soften when Scorpius laughs. “Come, Weasley. My study.”

He lights the wood in the fireplace after shutting the door, unsurprised that George has already started snooping about curiously at his bits and bobs of crystals, potions, and the like stacked around the walls of books.

Draco takes his coat off and tosses it over his chair, hands across the top of it. His black turtleneck is warm as the fire slowly heats the room to standard. “So?”

George slowly smiles. His left hand sticks down into his bag, and a wooden box emerges when he withdraws it. Draco stares, shocked, as Weasley rests it upon the desktop in front of him.

It's small, about twelve and a half centimeters wide by a little over fifteen in length, and carved from a dark, beautiful mahogany. It seems completely intact, save for a few hints of grooved lines arcing out in an odd, nearly geometrical lion design over the top and slightly down the sides.

George reaches, and without speaking, shows Draco the steps using his wand: the initial slide of the wand's tip along a diagonal piece down the main line of the lion's back, one swipe in an opposite direction with the back paw, and a soft little twist along the mane's top. The box opens, the pieces of the lion pulling away to reveal a pretty bowl inside, about ten centimeters or so across. There's liquid inside of it, resting undisturbed.

Draco looks back up and meets George's gaze.

They stare a moment.

And Draco, true to his skeptical core even in his wonder, murmurs, “I never doubted your _craftsmanship_ , Weasley, but does it _work_ properly? Can the pensieve function?”

George huffs and stands upright. “Malfoy, d'you think I haven't _slept_ the last two nights for nothing?”

“Show me,” Draco urges. “I want to get it to him tomorrow.”

“Here,” George replies with another reach into a different pocket. He hands Draco a new bit of glass, one more embossed and handsomely spun with the memory inside of it. “That's what they keep them in, apparently. Got it with the pensieve from the supplier.”

“Thanks,” Draco says and pops the pointed end open. He holds the precious container above the bowl inside the puzzle box. “Just in?”

“Yeah. You've got a squished enough face if you keep your pointy nose down a bit and try to press your eyes to it,” George explains. “I tried the finger. Didn't work like I'd hoped.”

Draco chooses to ignore the remark and just takes a breath to steady his hand.

The silvery memory falls like a draft of liquid silk out of the glass and into the fluid of the bowl, instantly changing the appearance into a swirling mixture. Draco leans down, eager to see the memory again—for since his gifting of it, all he's known is that he's _had_ the memory before, even if he cannot entirely recall it again without some sense of loss. He can barely rest just his eyes to the bowl, but he does it as best he can, holding his breath with his nose poking into the fluid, too.

The magic works in his mind's eye and pulls him back to that instant. Emotions dance through him, weaving a tapestry of hope and appreciation, of acceptance and understanding. When he sees Harry and James hugging one another so lovingly through the cracked door of the flat, Draco sighs in remembrance within his own memory, in gratitude for having experienced that moment all over again.

After about twenty seconds, the memory begins to fade out, and Draco lifts his face carefully from the bowl. Draco slowly opens his grey eyes, eyes as full of motion as much as the memory itself in that tiny swirling pensieve, and the corner of his lip curves.

“So?” Weasley asks, a proud wizard waiting.

“It's perfect,” he declares, absolutely satisfied.

George crosses his arms. “Had better be. This box might pass for something he might use to carry his quills and ink around. Anything bigger would get noticed.”  
  
“How much trouble did it cause?”

“Oh, loads. Angelina threatened to hide the materials since I wasn't responding to owls for dinner at home. She ended up just bringing me some food to the shop so I wouldn't starve in focus. Had to explain the project a little bit to her, and she backed off then, but she's said nothing to Harry or James. Besides, I got home to have a tea and write the kids, and I worked from home the second night.”

“I see. You made the box, then?”

“Yeah. Well, I scrounged one up, transfigured the wood and used a design I'd thought about years back. Used to fancy the idea of a puzzle box that never actually opened. Fun prank to keep people trying to crack it. Just made a simpler 'key' for this.”

“The pensieve give you issues?”

“Shrinking it was surprisingly easy. Trying to keep the same fluid ratio was a bit trickier. But, ah...inspiration comes in the strangest of ways."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"I got frustrated, broke out a bottle of brew, and ended up shrinking a tumbler to the size of a thimble to try keeping the whiskey inside. That took the longest part—tweaking charms until the right one worked.”

Draco hums, grinning. “Brilliant idea. It really is amazing work, Weasley. The results speak for themselves.”

“I know,” George retorts confidently. He sniffs and looks away to the fireplace. “Was a bit...nervous testing the memory out. Didn't want to mess it up, like I said. Can't shrink the memory, can't change the ratio in the bowl for it to function right. Had to know the exact limits I was working with, yeah? So...without getting too technical and boring, I'll say I figured out I could use a few different charms to, ah, essentially create an enforced space for the liquid. A normal pensieve does its thing regardless of how big _you_ are, so long as you get your eyes in there, so I imagined the principle would stay the same if the memory inside couldn't shrink. Seems to work as is with the liquid itself charmed to help it stay stable. It might not be as clear and intense as a normal viewing with your entire face in a bowl, but you _can_ see it, and that's the important part.”

“Yes, I could see it fine,” Draco confirms. “I suppose that means you have, as well.”

George shifts his weight and clears his throat. “Yeah. Bit...more emotional that I'd anticipated it being. Sneaky snake bastard, you sprung that on me.”

Draco waves a hand nonchalantly. “You're sure you don't want payment?”

“Yeah, deal's a deal, Malfoy. The bloke who sold this to me from his shop gave me a lecture about its value and its judgment by people at large, but I know it's not _dark_ magic. It's just more complicated than that. People get paranoid, right, and secrets are secrets. Memories are easily something to get lost in, but...I don't know. I've wondered how something like this might have helped some of us after the War, had we not be raised to be so wary, yeah? Had some of us even _known_ a thing like this existed. Not all do.”

"It's a tool, Weasley, as dark and capable as its master."

A hand extends in the air over the desk, and George winks. “Right. I've thought more about it, and resources just don't exist the way I'd hoped with the number of pensieves out there. But I'm thinking...maybe one of these for the shop, kept safe. Bigger box. A list of rules for anyone wanting to use it, that sort of thing. It wouldn't be the first time something out of the shop set someone off with a rant to the papers, but it might be seriously worth it for some people in the future. Now...this little project of yours took a bit more gold than I'd hoped, so I've gotta ask. You wanna return the help by throwing some gold my way?”

Energy seems to circulate through his arm as he takes the offered hand firmly. Draco smiles a little, his only condition a softly muttered, “Find two.”

 

 

 


	64. a q u a m a r i n e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

 

 

64.

 

a q u a m a r i n e

   


Pansy lounges in his study chair, arms over its rests, brow cocked above her lined dark eyes.

Draco ignores the demand in her gaze and finishes wrapping the boxes for Lily and James with the paper he'd snuck out of the attic this morning at an ungodly hour. Each gift has a folded envelope he rests upon it with the pieces of letters inside, the last one for James written in respectful hope for any time he doubts his worth _._

But her stare is fierce and Slytherin, even if it is for a loving reason.

“Draco,” she begins, her voice rough on his ears.

“Shut up.”

“ _Draco_.”

“I said shut up.”

“Darling, don't you feel this is—”

“No. Besides, I've already owl'ed Harry, and they'll all be at the flat near two this afternoon.”

“I wasn't asking if it was too soon. Isn't it a touch...well, too much?”

Draco grits his teeth. Steadies his nerves. “They're all bright and capable of understanding.”

Pansy sighs loudly and swivels slightly in the chair next to him. “Draco, that isn't what I mean, and you know it. Doesn't it all feel a bit over the top? Might it be too much for them _emotionally_? Might it be so  _for you_ , as well?”

“Maybe so, but I must do it.”

“Because you fear they don't like you?”

“Because I want them to understand they come with _him_. I don't get to simply select Harry out of his life to engage with, Pansy, and I want them to know I don't lump them as some single entity.” Draco fluffs the fringe from his eyes with a flustered hand. “They're individual children, all with personal struggles over the last while, and I've wanted to do this properly by starting a relationship with each of them. It's all I've done over break. Before that, even, with Lily. If I'm to be in _their_ lives from now on because I'm in their father's, then I want them to know I respect their places in _mine_.”

Her pink painted lips coyly curve. “Who would have _ever_ guessed you'd be so sensitive?”

“Piss off,” he snaps, but it's half-hearted and with a smirk.

“It's a _compliment_ , Draco. You're a wonderfully sensitive father. Merlin knows I'd be rubbish as a parent, and I've _no_ idea how you've done all this for years.”

“Hope, patience, and guts, really. You never know what you're doing at first. You only try to seem as if you do for the longest time.”

“Fine,” Pansy murmurs and adjusts on the chair. “List the contents.”

“A lamp with Cold Fire Albus can manipulate. A puzzle box with a hidden smaller pensieve and a memory for James to revisit when he needs it. And Astoria's hand mirror for Lily to connect with as she had, along with a box of chocolates she adores.”

Pansy sits forward, eyes sharp. “Astoria's mirror.”

Draco nods, glancing to the wrapped box. “In the box she kept my letters, too. It's pretty.”

“Her _mirror_ , Draco,” Pansy repeats, and though she sounds nearly harsh, Draco can see the worry and love in her eyes for him. “Darling, are you _certain_ you're comfortable—”

“Yes,” Draco interrupts calmly. Their eyes hold a silent moment. “I gave it great thought.”

“And has Scorpius?”

“I hadn't told him yet. I planned to speak with him after you leave.”

“Told me what?” Scorpius asks from the door as he passes by.

Pansy's hand comes up to her mouth.

Draco closes his eyes.

Feet patter as they enter the study behind him.

Scorpius steps to his left, opposite Pansy's chair. He glances over the boxes on the desk. “Are those their gifts?”

“Yes. I aim to take them over shortly,” Draco acknowledges and taps each one softly. “There's...something I wished to speak with you about concerning one of Lily's.”

“What's that, Father?”

Draco brushes his fingers over his son's hair as Pansy holds her breath. “Do you remember the hand mirror I gave your mother? The one she used often?”

“Yes,” Scorpius answers, a little puzzled. “The silver one with the flowers engraved on it.”

“That one, darling, indeed,” Pansy confirms gently.

“I bought it before you were born," Draco says. "Back then I...admittedly did so because I didn't _know_ what to gift women.”

“You sap,” Pansy teases. “We're not all into such feminine nonsense.”

Scorpius snickers at Draco's eye roll.

“Yes, well, _Astoria_ liked to paint her face from time to time, and I knew she could appreciate the mirror for it,” Draco says softly. He leans over the desk, palms flat to the edge. “Once she became...sick, she used it for the same purpose, but its meaning changed. Each day she looked upon it and herself, she confronted her coming death with courage. She refused to let the sadness overwhelm her entirely, and so she stayed _herself_ and confident, painting her lips that bold red despite how pale her reflection grew. In her moments of doubt and worry, she asked me to bring it to her.”

Scorpius stands still beside him with his grey eyes upon Lily's wrapped box.

But Pansy's gaze and Draco's own are both heavily resting on the silent twelve-year-old.

Draco continues, sensing his friend's supportive hand touching his back, “I don't know what the future brings for Lily, but she knew of her father and I first, and _she_ granted approval of _me_ when I thought all so hopeless. Scorpius, she may be a strong girl, but we all struggle. Lily has done so quietly, away from her brothers, away from you or I, even her parents at times. I thought she might find courage the same way your mother had by seeing the strength in herself, that perhaps she could connect with your mother's memory as something of inspiration and comfort whenever she feels unsure.”

At Scorpius's hesitant expression, he adds, “She's been very curious about Astoria. Even stood at the stone with me and paid respects.”

“She...did?” Scorpius wonders when Pansy sucks in air.

“Yes,” Draco replies. “She did.”

“Lily is...she's really nice. A bit rough sometimes when we play, but not in a bad way.”

“That's her mother in her—one strong personality begetting another.”

Pansy snorts behind him. “Strong personality, you say. I'd call it something _else_.”

Draco lifts his foot and knocks his heel against her shin.

The father and son quietly stare at one another, and then Scorpius breathes out. “If I say I'm not comfortable with it...would you put the mirror back upstairs?”

Pansy's long nails press to his lower back in concern.

Draco's brow slides upward. He gets it, really, but something tells him to push a little. A nudge from inside his heart that feels suspiciously like Astoria, somehow. “I'd consider it because your feelings matter to me, Scorpius, but I'd ask you to tell me why you'd want me to do so. Is it worry over the object's care, or do you wish to keep the mirror, yourself?”

“Well, it's just...Mother's things belong here with us, don't they?” Scorpius asks, his tone softening, eyes cast to the side. “This was Mother's home.”

So heart-brokenly spoken. So uncertain and afraid.

“Oh Scorpius,” Pansy gently answers. “Of course it was her home.”

The air seems to tense a bit, and Draco sighs softly, grey gaze over his boy. “Her things belong here with us, yes, but your mother wouldn't want _everything_ setting unused. How often when you were little did she donate things we didn't need about the house?”

Scorpius looks to his feet.

Pansy sighs slightly. “Merlin, I _remember_ her doing that. You were so young, Scorpius, when she tried sticking me with a cute kettle. It looked like a cat, of all things. Told her I already had a kettle, of course, but she nagged me for a week, so I gave in. I still have the damn thing. It's on a shelf at work so I can see it.”

Scorpius barely smiles at Pansy's attempt to lighten his spirits.

Pansy exhales sadly.

“Your mother liked to _give_. To help others,” Draco explains, hands gesturing in front of him. “I want you to see that your mother's memory is being _valued_ , Scorpius, not tossed away, with this mirror. It isn't given meaninglessly or thoughtlessly at all, but considered deeply in vein of her own possible wishes. And I can think of no better suited person to appreciate this and care for it than a girl who would _understand_ the level of respect this mirror represents and give the same in turn.”

Scorpius hangs his face, looking ashamed. He sniffs.

Draco frowns, the sad understanding there in the lines of his brow and eyes.

Pansy whispers worriedly as he pushes from the desk and pulls his son to his chest, holding him closely with the smaller arms tight about his sides. “Time won't stop, Scorpius. Life continues. And so must we, keeping her memory with us. Though we can slow it for a bit with grief, we cannot pause it forever.”

“I know,” come the words muffled into his black jumper.

Scorpius rubs his face into Draco's chest and squeezes his back, and the small sounds of muffled tears hurt his heart. Draco nuzzles him, holds him and tries his best to will the sadness away. Then, after a minute or two, his son stops crying, wipes his eyes, and leans backward to stare closely up at Draco, pointy chin resting to his body.

“Are you all right?” Draco asks with a little smile.

“Yes, Father. It's just...strange, I guess. I never thought about what to do with all of Mother's things much.”

“We can sort it this summer—what she'd want us to keep and what she might wish we'd donate.”

“But not everything. We keep some stuff, like her vanity. Promise?”

“Promise. Her things will always have a place, even if we adjust the house over time.”

Scorpius exhales, his youthful grey eyes shining with hope. “Okay, Father. We'll talk about it in summer. And...you can give Lily the mirror.”

Draco tilts his face. “You're sure, son?”

A moment passes as Scorpius clearly thinks about it, lip plucked between his teeth. Eventually his son nods against him. “She'd take care of it. I know she would. Lily's always careful with things. And...she'd get it, if you explain it. She's smart.”

“I'm glad you approve.”

“Okay.”

The clock chimes above the mantle, and the grandfather echoes it in the living room.

Pansy pushes to her heels, clicking on the wooden floor as she whirls around and hugs the pair of them together. “All right, my boys. I've an appointment, and you've got some gifts to take.”

“Can't go like that,” Draco mutters, eyes slipping to Scorpius's socks.

Scorpius laughs and lets go of him, accepting another hug from Pansy before bounding out of the room for the parlor to slip on his shoes.

Pansy blows air through pursed lips. “That was _close_. You did well, Draco.”

Draco grunts and wipes his face, smiling only when she kisses his cheek loudly and tells him not to keep his Gryffindor waiting.

  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Adult Pansy has always existed in my head as a Selma Blair look-alike. It fits somehow regardless of book descriptions.]


	65. t u s c a n y

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

 

65.

 

t u s c a n y

 

 

Albus is the first to see them when they Floo through, arms loaded with the boxes.

He hops off the couch with a grin and wave, calling out to Harry, “Dad! Scorpius and Mr. Malfoy—I mean, Draco—are here!”

Draco smiles, happy for the young Slytherin's choice of familiarity.

Harry strolls from the kitchenette, wiping his hands with a towel. Draco smiles at the beautiful welcoming expression over Harry's face. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Draco greets back. “May I speak with you a moment?”

“Sure, babe.”

“Scorpius set that on the table,” Draco instructs, carrying two of the gifts into the room after Harry pulls back from the doorway. Scorpius sits Albus's box down with the rest and darts back into the living room, already overtaken by a series of rapid questions out of his best friend's mouth.

Draco snickers, but stops listening to his son's pleading _I can't spoil it, Albus_ and instead walks up behind Harry where Potter has finished drying a glass with the towel in hand. Palms settle about Harry's hips, and lips glide up his throat and suck at the lobe of his ear, teeth grazing it gently.

“ _Mm_ ,” Harry hums under his breath as he drops the towel to the counter.

“Mm, indeed,” Draco responds with a lick and an open mouth kiss to Harry's neck. “Harry?”

“Yes?”

“I need you to leave for a bit.”

“Pardon?”

“I've...got a few things for the children. Your children. I'd rather talk to them alone, if I may.”

Harry looks to his left as best he can, his dark brows arching. “Oh...?”

Draco stops kissing along his head and lifts his fingers, resetting them upon the muscled shoulders when Harry turns about and holds his waist. His brow rests to Harry's, the scar touching above his eye. “It's something I've been planning. Something...important.”

“Okay,” Harry replies, happy and the slightest bit shy. Green eyes light behind his glasses. “Actually...this works. I'd hoped to sneak a chat with Scorpius tomorrow before the train would go, but could I...talk with him now?”

“Certainly.”

“Great. I'll, ah, take him out with me. Leave the rest of you to talk or whatnot.”

“Perfect, thank you,” Draco whispers gratefully and kisses him full on the mouth.

Harry kisses back. “Let me get my coat. He got one?”

“Not with him, no.”

“Al and he are about the same size. It's fine.” Harry pecks his cheek and releases his waist, leaving Draco to follow him back into the living room. Lily and James have come out of their rooms with curiosity at the noise from Albus and Scorpius chatting, and Harry whistles and calms the room. “Hey. Draco has something he wishes to discuss with you three. And as they do that, Scorpius, why don't you come with me?”

Scorpius's brows slide way up his forehead. “Me?”

“Sure,” Harry encourages, stepping forward with a smile. “I'd like to spend some time with you, if that's fine?”

Grey eyes dart to Draco's immediately, and he smiles calmly, instantly relaxing the nervous energy that had sprung up about his son. Scorpius nods bashfully.

Harry grins. “Great. Al, get him your coat. He'll need one.”

“Over here, Scorpius,” Albus says, pushing off the sofa and running for the coat rack.

Harry moves to grab his own, and Draco takes his hand once he's slung his arms through the material. “Mind if we take our time?”

Draco shakes his head. He catches the rosiness already in Scorpius's cheeks as his son steals tiny glances Harry's way. “Take all you need, Harry.”

“All right. See the rest of you later,” Harry says, kisses Draco's cheek, and holds the door for Scorpius. The pair wave as it closes behind them.

And Draco is left standing near it with three children across from him all staring confusedly and waiting for him to _say_ something.

Well, fuck.

His nerves pluck like strings of a harp, but he clears his throat and asks them to each take a seat around the table. James sits across from him, Albus to his left, and Lily to his right with the gifts on the table between them. Each child kindly pretends they don't notice the wrapped presents as Draco stands behind his delegated chair, hands about its top, fingers gripping anxiously.

“Mister—Draco, is everything okay?” Albus asks, clearly as anxious as _he_ is.

Draco tries to swallow. “Yes, Albus.”

“Are these for us?” Lily questions, finally looking at the boxes openly.

“They are, Lily.”

“Why?” James wonders softly.

Draco looks to him, hyper aware of the lack of attitude and the single note of guilt slightly still tainting that young, lightly cracking voice.

For some reason _that_ is what settles his nerves.

Draco pulls his chair out and sits down, bending his long legs in the dark trousers. He meets the three pairs of eyes watching him closely, and he sighs. “The past months haven't been easy for any of us, but they've been especially overwhelming for all of you children. And though Scorpius lost his mother last summer, all of you have...been aware of struggles your mother and father were having for quite some time.”

Three sets of eyes immediately look away.

Draco's jaw clenches, and he tries to fix it. “My point is that you've come through so much, and I _know_...I know my presence has been an added stress at times. I'm sorry for that. And I think it's...time we were certain where things stand before you two get on the train.”

“Meaning?” James asks. Again, Draco's almost surprised at the lack of attitude he'd gotten so used to hearing. There's just a quietness now. A consideration.

“Meaning,” Draco answers, “that I want the three of you to understand something.”

They all look to him again, curious once more about the boxes as he waves a hand toward them. “Each of you has a box. Names are on the top. Grab yours.”

At first none of the kids move, and then quite suddenly they all do, the trio trying to suppress their excitement over gifts by swapping the boxes to be sure each got the appropriate one. Draco starts to smile.

“Okay, we've got them sorted,” Albus tells him. “Now what, Draco?”

“Now, I want you to open these one at a time since I'll need to explain a few things, but I want you to know something _first_ ,” Draco states quite firmly. He lifts his pale head higher. “I've arranged for these not to _buy_ continued approval of any sort, but for you to know something very important—that I am not here to pluck your father away when whim dictates. His life involves _you_ three, and now so does my own. You're _each_ so special, and I want you to know I'm aware of that.”  
  
The children sit silently. Albus seems nervous, but hopeful. Lily stares at him sweetly and openly. And James rounds it out with quiet, interested patience.

Draco takes a breath and looks to his left. “Albus, yours was chosen first, partly because Scorpius helped me at the time. Please open it.”

Albus scoots closer to the table. Nervously his fingers pinch at the envelope, and he tears it open and takes a few seconds to read the note, lips moving over the words. Slowly his head lifts, and he looks to Draco with wondering, surprised eyes.

Draco taps the box. “Open it.”

Albus nods and pulls slowly at the wrapping paper from the Hogsmeade shop; when Lily tells him to tug harder, Albus just goes for it and uncovers the thin cardboard box quickly. He pops the lid, reaches inside, and almost drops the lamp in shock at the light shining within it. Draco reaches and grabs the top by its handle just in time.

“Sorry,” Albus murmurs, carefully lifting the rest of the lamp up and out. He sets it on the table for the others to see and bends his face to look. “Woah!”

“It's a lamp!” Lily says, half climbed over the table to get a better view.

James slides his chair around the curve of the wood. His brows pop up.

“What's in there? What's the light?” Albus asks excitedly.

Draco sticks his hand inside the box and retrieves the instructions. He holds the papers out to Albus, nodding when the boy takes them. “That, Albus, is summoned Cold Fire. And you can manipulate it into any shape you desire.”

“Seriously?” Albus demands, blown away, with Lily _ooh_ -ing nearby.

“Yes,” Draco says and pulls his wand from his pocket. He points it carefully at the lamp and away from the children, a shape in mind. “Picture your shape and cast this spell. _Muto Lux_.”

Albus gasps as the light inside the glass swirls about, tightens, and then grows into the big Slytherin snake, coiled and rising up, weaving its bright head around.

“That is _wicked_ ,” James murmurs in approval, his eyes lit up with the blue light.

“Albus,” Draco says, catching the astounded boy's attention. “Do you understand the note?”

Harry's little look-a-like pauses, glances once to the folded slip of paper by his fingers, and then back to the lamp, almost charmed by the Cold Fire snake inside. He swallows roughly, and his wide eyes slide to Draco's.

“What's the note say?” Lily mumbles, tilting her head to watch the snake move.

Albus lifts the paper and reads, slowly, “Live in your own light and cast your own shadow.”

James looks from the lamp right to Draco with full awareness. And why wouldn't he? Albus isn't the _only_ Potter child in their father's big shadow. But he _is_ the only Slytherin, and he _has_ had the most fear of not being _enough_ for his family and father's legacy as a result.

Albus rests the paper down again. “I understand, Draco. Thank you.”

“Good,” Draco replies and angles closer, the lamp positioned slightly between them. Grey eyes lock onto the blue reflection of light from the snake shape in Albus's bright gaze. “Be proud of who  _you_ are. Remember what I told you at Christmas about making your inherited strength your power?”

“Yes.”

“Then keep it with you always, and know that if you need anything, you may write _me—_ not ask Scorpius a question or write me through him, but write me, yourself. You need not fear overstepping any bounds, Albus, for there are none to be concerned about. I'm grateful for you being in my son's life as well as my own.”

Albus's eyes wet. Lily grows quiet and watchful, and James stares at the pair of them intently.

Draco sits back as Albus suddenly pushes out of his chair and takes two steps to bend and put arms about Draco's neck. A dark head presses to his cheek, and Draco closes his eyes and hugs Albus in return, patting his back. Lily and James stay quiet, even when Albus eventually lets go and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

Harry's sensitive Slytherin son sits back down with the lamp and opens the instruction pamphlet, clearly needing a moment to himself.  
  
Lily rests back into her chair. James orients his more opposite of Draco again to give his brother some space. Both consider Albus another half-minute before focusing upon Draco once more.

He looks to his right this time. “Lily, your note can be read after. Open yours, please.”

Instead of ripping the paper off quickly, perhaps as she'd desired to do before, Lily opens her gift cautiously after seeing how significant her brother's was. When the wooden box appears with the pretty inlay, Draco exhales and tries to relax the heavy emotional weight over his shoulders. Lily opens the box and looks inside, grinning briefly at the familiar chocolates carton until she stops smiling and very carefully lifts the silver mirror from its tissue cushion.

James observes her holding it up as Draco does. Even Albus stops reading and lifts his head.

All of them wait as she looks into the glass, then cautiously turns it over to see the other side.

Finally, after nearly three minutes, she turns to Draco.

“Your note,” Draco says, taking the envelope. He opens it for her and coughs before reading his writing aloud, “When life feels uncertain, you've only to look into the mirror of courage from someone brave like you.”

James frowns, trying to understand the significance, but Lily stares at him with big, beautiful eyes. Quietly, almost too quiet for him to hear, she says, “Was...this... _hers_ , Mr. Malfoy?”

“Yes,” he tells her, able to see James' jaw drop in his peripheral vision. Draco views the mirror fondly. “This is not something I give you lightly, and the reason is this—Astoria drew strength from herself whenever she looked into it, and she did so _every day_ until she passed. In many ways, Lily, you remind me of her. You're caring, open, and so strong. You were brave accepting me around your father the past months. It was _you_  who first gave me hope that things could be all right. It was you who granted me some peace with my worries over your father. Thank you, Lily. You cannot know what it has meant to me.”

Lily beams at him, her long red hair framing it. “Dad's been happy, Mr. Malfoy. Thank _you_.”

Albus smiles at his sister. James blinks and sits back in his chair, looking down at his hands.

Draco winks. “I suppose...with my blessing and Scorpius's, I hope you might use this mirror the way she had, or, at the least, know it's okay to have a connection with someone you didn't get to know. So if you'd like to keep it, you may do so. If it isn't something you're comfortable with having, that is fine. I won't be offended. Understand?”

Lily stares into the silver mirror, determined with her private thoughts.

And then she _very_ gently sets it back inside the box with the utmost care.

Warm eyes. Little fingers resting upon it. Relaxed acceptance appears over her expression.

Draco breathes out a breath he hadn't known he'd held.

Lily opens up the chocolates, all coconut with rum, and holds one out to him. Draco takes it with a little smile, peels the bottom wrapper off and eats it as she chews into another one.

They stare at each other, matching smiles growing wider and wider with her silent thanks and his silent happiness at it.

Draco notices James continuing to consider his hands, as if avoiding the box left upon the table. So quietly, with a smirk, he reaches and gives it a nudge. The box pushes a few centimeters closer to James, and the teen looks up at it, then him.

Draco's smirk falls into something serious.

James' breathing seems somewhat offset, stressed but anxious.

“Go on,” he encourages Harry's eldest. “Yours is _quite_ special.”

“I don't deserve one,” James says and pushes it back. “Not after everything.”

The legs of Draco's chair slide backwards, startling all three kids, and Draco rises. He walks about the table, easily aware of James' slightly panicked eyes, and he puts a firm hand upon the teenager's shoulder. Draco bends his knees a bit and speaks near the waiting ear, “I've put the rest behind me, James, and so should you. Open this.”

James takes a deep breath and lets it out. “You're...sure?”

“It won't bite you. Your Uncle George helped make it.”

“Now I _know_ it's gonna bite me.”

Draco chuckles. Lily and Albus relax hearing it. “Give it a go. You might just be surprised at what's inside.”

James nods and quickly unwraps the handsome wooden box. He stares down at it, and just as his fingertip goes to trace the lion, Draco stops him. He stretches and demonstrates with his wand the movements, making sure James is remembering each line he swipes with magic, and then he stands upright as the box opens up.

The pensieve bowl is revealed. James stares down, entirely confused, as Lily and Albus scoot closer in their interest.

Draco keeps his hand over that youthful shoulder. “Do you see the bit of glass down there? Pointy ends. Little bottle.”

“Yes.”

“Pick it up.”

James obeys and holds the memory up. “What is this?”

“You'll see. Open the end _over the bowl_. Very, very carefully pour the contents inside of it.”

“Are you _sure_ this won't spill over?”

“Yes.”

James shakes his head, but his hand is steady as he does as he's told. The memory sifts into the bowl, and James sets the glass down to the tabletop. His head falls back as he views Draco. “Now what?”

Draco's left brow rises. “Now stick your face in it.”

“Huh?” James grunts, ogling him like he's gone mad.

“Your eyes, mostly. Press as close as you can.”

“You want me to _drown_ , don't you.”

“No,” he laughs. “I want you to take a breath and put your open eyes into that fluid.”

James hesitates, clearly afraid. So Draco lowers to a knee and squeezes his shoulder. “James, look at me. That bowl? It's a small pensieve. What you just put into it is a memory. The only way you can see it is by doing as I said.”

“I've heard of these, though. They're dangerous, aren't they?”

“They're just a tool, James. If someone is obsessive, it can make the trait worse. If someone is covetous, it can increase their greed. If someone is secretive, it becomes an extremely personal possession buried with its user out of fear. But as a tool, on its own, it is not inherently dangerous. Like your own wand, it serves but a purpose if used correctly.”

“Oh,” James says, looking a little sheepish. He stares down at the bowl. “So...I just...?”

“Eyes in the bowl. As much of your face as you can. Keep them open.”

“And I'll...see...a memory in there.”

“Sort of. You'll see it _very_ closely. As if you're almost there.”

Albus murmurs under his breath, fascinated. James gives the bowl another glance over, and he works up the nerve to put his hands on either side of the box. He takes a loud breath, bless him, and puts his head down, his dark hair like Harry's obscuring Draco's vision to know if it's worked.

Seconds move like hours.

Draco's heart rate spikes, his leg twitching with agitation and anxiety. He hopes as both of James' siblings witness this process that they aren't afraid, because kneeled there, _he's_ utterly terrified of James' reaction, himself.

After twenty or so seconds, James comes up gasping like he's been dunked underwater.

His breaths are quite heavy, his shoulders heaving, his hands still planted to either side of the box. The teenager shudders and shakes, and then whips his head about with humongous eyes only for Draco. Lily and Albus hold their breath together, unable to turn away from the pair of them now.

The first tear slides down the boy's right cheek.

So does Draco's.

They almost mirror one another in the shocked silence.

“Th-That's yours,” James stutters. “Your m-memory.”

“Yes,” Draco says softly.

James tries so hard to hold back his emotions.

Draco gives his shoulder another squeeze. “I told you that you were important, James. I know it's hard to take words into us sometimes, so I thought maybe this...would help. So long as you take care of the memory and the box, you can keep this at Hogwarts. Do _not_ tell your professors about it. Don't tell anyone, if you can help it, because it's for _you_. I don't want it taken from you, especially not when I had your uncle rush to help me the last two days to make the box, get a pensieve, and figure out how to shrink it down to work so you could hide it at school. ”

James' chin quivers. “But why? Why would you...?”

Draco blinks his second tear. “Because, like I told you at Christmas, I don't want your false acceptance when your genuine one would be absolutely worth it. That cannot happen without you learning to trust me. And trust cannot be given until you truly see that I _acknowledge_ your place in your father's life and will never attempt to interfere with it.”

Breath escapes. James closes his eyes, the long lashes dewy with moisture.

Draco grabs for the envelope and pulls the note out.

“For you to see through my eyes your own truth,” he reads, hoping it doesn't seem even more overwhelming. He drops the paper. “I did this _for you_ because you _matter_. And one day I truly hope to earn your trust. I want all of you to trust me not only with your father's heart, but as someone to be there for you, too. And I'll gladly wait until the day each of you do.”

James shifts on his chair, rotates toward Draco, and lets his brow fall to Draco's shoulder. Draco's right arm moves around James' back to embrace him. And the pair remain that way in silence with Lily and Albus each stunned by their brother, but hopeful all the same.  
  
“Thank you,” James whispers against him, still shaking a little.

“You're very welcome,” Draco says, trembling, too.

Albus smiles with relief over his brother's back from his seat.

Lily bites her lower lip happily.

And James adjusts from the table to hold around Draco's neck, not letting go for a long while, the threads stronger than they've ever been between them all.

  
  
  
  


 


	66. l a u r e l _ g r e e n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

 

 

66.

 

l a u r e l   g r e e n

 

When Harry and Scorpius return, Draco is given a gift all his own.

It isn't something he's directly asked anyone for nor something he'd hoped to rush into being.

It isn't a box with a ribbon and a bow nor a gesture of the grandest kind.

But it's there in front of him, opened as if by her spirit's loving hands, and his breath catches in his chest, his willpower the _only_ measure of control against the immediate moisture in his eyes.

It's the gift of peace deep within as the pair enter with matching shy smiles. It's an opened laugh in his heart when snowflakes wistfully blow about their rosy winter-kissed faces. It's a splendid urge to smile as Harry laughs with Scorpius rushing to shut the door behind them with the heavy cold wind, and it's the reassuring closeness he's always hoped for as his partner helps the struggling boy, pushing with his weight as well until the door latches properly.

It's pure thankfulness when Harry commends Scorpius, and it's his soul's relief when his son gazes at Harry with something thoughtful and hopeful and accepting that hadn't entirely been there before. Draco's happy heart is filled to near bursting in the best manner possible as Harry squeezes Scorpius in a hug that his child blushingly _returns_ before his partner divests them both of their coats.

It's so beautiful, so natural, that mutual adorable awkwardness.

It's the greatest gift he's ever been given, one that only time can continue to best.

And somehow Draco finds the strength to relax in a way he hasn't for years.

Draco stares with open love in his eyes, his throat tight with emotion he doesn't speak. James sits next to him, carefully watching his reaction, the smallest smile on his mouth. Harry turns the same way Scorpius does, both pausing to see three emotional kids all sitting quietly with Draco around the sofa, each of them asking Albus to practice the spell with his lamp.

Without knowing what he's just done, without knowing how much he has fortified that crystal in Draco's chest, without a lick of awareness of how important his smile in that very second is, Harry takes in the sight before him with a nonchalant light in his eyes.

“Everything okay?” Harry asks as he steps closer, hand patting over Scorpius's hair one last time, soothing his son as much as Draco himself. “James?”

James looks once to Draco and then to his father again, nodding, “Fine, Dad.”

Albus excitedly grabs for Harry's arm. “Look, Dad! Look at my lamp! Scorpius, your dad said you picked it out!”

“Partly,” Scorpius agrees, smiling widely. “Father chose it once I pointed it out with others.”

“That's really nice of them, Al.” Harry grins next to his little look-a-like. “Where'd you find it?”

“Hogsmeade,” Draco answers softly.

“Look at _this_ ,” Albus insists and shows Harry the instruction pamphlet. “You can change it to any shape you want.”

Harry glances past the pamphlet and to the little strip of paper with _his_ writing on it sitting by Albus's knee. Those sharp green eyes snap to Draco's face in awareness.

Albus, bless him, shows Harry how he can make the Cold Fire become a lion for his father's House despite Harry's slight distraction from the grey eyes anxiously staring at him in turn. Harry comes out of the concentration to Albus's patient expression, and he hugs his son, smiling as the blue lion roars without sound in the lamp.

“It's wonderful, Al. We'll have to pack it carefully in your trunk,” Harry murmurs, happy and tender with a hand over Albus's dark hair. His head tilts, and he notices Lily finish nibbling on a chocolate with a smirk. “Got more, did you? Hope you haven't had many.”

Lily smiles, her fingers resting upon her box on her lap. “Just two, Dad. And...something else.”

“Oh?” Harry asks as he shifts over to her side of the sofa. The little smile never leaves the corner of his handsome mouth. “What else did Draco give you?”

Lily climbs down to the floor with the box, and quickly Scorpius slips around to take her spot to Draco's left. His close proximity to his father alerts him to the small jitters racing through his father's limbs, and Draco can only smile when he feels the smaller hand take his protectively.

Lily carefully pops the lid. “Wanna see?”

Harry's brows rise as Lily holds up the mirror. “That's _beautiful_ , Lily.”  
  
Lily glances from Draco and Scorpius to the mirror in her fingers again. “It was hers, Dad—Mrs. Malfoy's. She used it to see how strong she was whenever she felt scared. I'm strong, but sometimes...I get scared, too. So I'm going to use, it, Dad. And I'm going to take _very_ good care of it.”

Harry sucks in a breath, green eyes concerned as he looks up immediately. But Draco and Scorpius both smile softly, hands squeezed between them, and Harry releases the air with a softer exhale. “That...was _very_ gracious of them to give you, Lily.”

“I know,” she replies, viewing her reflection with inspired determination before looking over her shoulder at the two pale Slytherins. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Scorpius replies kindly.

Harry kisses her temple, and his attention veers to his firstborn and the wooden box on James' lap. “What's that, James?”

The teenager waves his father forward.

Draco's heart thuds nervously as Harry bends on James' other side, kneeling at the sofa's edge. James smiles and says, “Draco had Uncle George make it.”

“That's nice of him. For your quills and such?”

“Uh...no? It's to....” James trails off and glances to Draco, continuing _only_ at his encouragement before speaking again, and Draco's new anxiety cuts in half at that little push for trust. For _his_ approval. “It hides something.”

“Oh, _does_ it, now? Nothing _too_ troubling, I assume,” Harry murmurs with a wink Draco's way. “Merlin knows what George gets up to on his _own_ without a Slytherin behind him for motivation.”

Draco scoffs amusedly as Scorpius snickers.

James turns slightly rosy. “It's got...a...pensieve inside. Do you know what that is, Dad?”

“Yes, I do,” Harry says. Draco swallows as Harry looks at him over James' head. “And they're highly against the rules for students to have.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “ _Please_ , you broke nearly every rule there is and _then_ some. Stuff it.”

Harry grins gleefully. “I know. I'm impressed, Draco. I'm sure you chose it for good reason.”

“He did, Dad.”

“I've used one before. How'd you get it this small?”

“Weasley,” Draco mutters with a shrug. “He gets all the credit.”

James contemplates a moment before almost timidly nudging his father with an elbow. “You can...look...if you want.”

“Oh?” Harry wonders curiously. “There's a memory in there already?”

“...yeah.”

“You already figure out how to put one in, then?”

“It's...not mine,” James answers gently, his shoulder resting closer to Draco. “It's his.”

Draco blushes, but holds firm, his face schooled into an unfazed mask despite its redness when his partner considers him curiously and lifts the box, carrying it back into the kitchenette to peek inside. Draco closes his eyes in hope that Harry won't be upset, that he won't feel a boundary has been crossed or that Draco has stepped into territory that should only be _his own_.

Sweetly enough, all four kids seem to sense his anxiousness and respond to it; Scorpius holds his hand tighter and leans against him, James bumps his knee to Draco's supportively, and Albus and Lily scoot closer and stare up at him in concern.

Half a minute later, they all hear Harry gasp.

Heavy steps stride back into the living room.

Draco lifts his head, grey eyes already wet as the green ones across from him as Harry stands there in shock. Neither speak. The children watch them stare with Harry's jaw sliding back and forth as thoughts race through his mind and he blinks behind his glasses.

And then the tears come.

The room is tense for a moment with swelling emotion, and Draco pushes to his feet, letting go of Scorpius's hand. Carefully he steps about the children that have gathered by his legs, and he crosses to his crying love.

“Harry, I— _mmph_ ,” Draco mumbles against the mouth immediately silencing him with a kiss.

Worn, tired, _strong_ Gryffindor hands possessively frame his jaw. Delicate pale fingertips weave into black hair with relieved acceptance. Lips touch and caress with care for the children witnessing them do so, the emotions communicating as they always do with wordless, intense language that Draco instinctively understands; the soft need of each tender press is answered with the want of his kiss in turn, and the unspoken love that waited years to be shared now exchanges itself without fear in a continuous, beautiful cycle with each given and taken breath.

Albus, Lily, and Scorpius giggle softly to themselves as Harry keeps kissing him, like butterfly touches all along his cheek and jaw making him chuckle.

And James, oblivious to the string's existence yet feeling it all the same, openly smiles at the love and unhidden happiness before him when he hears his father whisper _thank you_ , his brow to Draco's and the abyss wide open for all to see.

 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Major upload to the end. I've spent the last weeks working on it all.   
> Thank you for your patience.]


	67. f l a x e n

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

67.

 

f l a x e n

 

The knock sounds near ten o'clock, and Draco, awake in bed, softly tells his son to enter.

After a more reserved afternoon home and a late dinner, he'd expected this.

Scorpius patters across the floor and climbs onto the covers. His big grey eyes absorb every breath his father takes, his head rests close listening for the steady, certain beat, and his arm no longer hesitantly wraps but intentionally folds over Draco's stomach willfully to claim a spot.

Each little action makes his chest ache, makes his heart warm bittersweetly.

They have come so far to where they should have always been, and tomorrow his son will board that red train. These few hours before the morn are all they have left. And though Draco knows Scorpius needs space and school and Draco himself needs time with Harry, it is yet painful somehow to let go again.

“Can't sleep?” Draco wonders aloud, fingertips brushing over his son's brow close to his jaw.

“Mm mm.”

“Bad dreams?”

“Just can't stop thinking, I guess. Been up for hours now.”

“A shared affliction. It appears I've passed it to you.”

Scorpius lightly snickers next to him. “Guess so.”

Draco asks the question he'd longed to ask all day since Harry and Scorpius had happily returned. “Scorpius...did you enjoy the afternoon?”

Scorpius laughs. “Yeah. Mr. Potter was _really_ happy about those gifts you gave them.”

“That he was.”

“He barely stopped kissing you. For, like, ten minutes straight.”

“Indeed,” Draco grins before growing more solemn. After hours of wondering quietly to himself, he decides to push, even if in some ways it _isn't_ his business. “How was your time with him?”

“Okay.”

“Just okay?”

“Better than okay.” Scorpius mumbles into him. “He asked if he could take me...somewhere special...since he had the...time. I said yes after I thought about it when we stopped for candy first.”

Draco's brows arch as he rests against his pillow. “Where was this special place?”

His son doesn't answer.

Draco shoves his disgruntlement further into his gut and focuses. “Scorpius, talk to me. I don't ask to disrupt any privacy between the pair of you, I ask because though I trust Harry absolutely with you, I am concerned by your silence.”

“It's not bad, it's—I don't know if you'll be upset, Father.”

“Why would I be upset?”

“Because....”

“Because...?”

Scorpius's cheeks redden, and he stares at the windows. “We had to Floo from the pub in the Alley to here and walk there.”

“Walk _where_ , son?” Draco asks, stomach dropping as the idea hits and he _knows_.

“We went to the cemetery,” Scorpius replies timidly. “We...visited...Mother. And his parents.”

Draco sits up immediately.

Scorpius slides off of him, slightly intimidated by the speed he's moved.

Damn it, though, he can't help but sit there with his gaping mouth and hopeful brain. Guiltily, Draco reaches and pulls his child closer to calm him. “He...introduced you to them?”

“Yes, Father. After we spoke to Mother.”

“You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to do so, Scorpius. The time was for the pair of you alone, not me. I'm not...I'm not upset you went.”

“It's all right, Father. He told Mother not to worry, that he promised to watch over me for her,” Scorpius admits, blushing. “And he told his parents that I'm Albus's best friend and your son, and that I'm really special. He said...he wished I could meet them, too. That they'd love me lots.”

Draco smiles so warmly it takes Scorpius by surprise.

Scorpius swallows, staring up at him.

“Harry's parents, whatever even _you_ know of them from practical legend at this point, are _deeply_ important to him,” Draco admits, that smile falling away. “He introduced me to them once like that, too, when you were gone in the autumn. It means...it means we matter _very_ much to him. That he trusts us. Loves us. Scorpius, for Harry, there is no greater gift he can give you than this. It is _sacred_ to him.”

Scorpius nods, listening intently, absorbing his every word with care.

“Did you...enjoy that time, then?”

“Yes. I talked to Mother by myself, too.”

Draco waits a moment or two, then frowns and shifts to his side. “I should have asked if you wanted to go today. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay, Father. I...honestly...hadn't thought about it. We'd been so busy, and....” Scorpius trails off, eyes big and needing him to soothe them. “Am I...bad...for that?”

“No,” Draco explains, reaching to brush some loose pale hair from his son's eyes. “You're not a bad son for that, Scorpius. Your mother would completely understand and _want_ you focused on school. She'd want you enjoying life.”

Scorpius exhales a breath he's clearly been holding for some time.

Draco's brow rises at it, and he sighs, brushing soft hair. “She knows you hold her in your heart.”  
  
“Always.”  
  
“So did he take you anywhere else?”

“He got me some special stationery to write him, if I wanted. It has Slytherin emblems on it!”

“Very nice.” Draco rests his brow to the side of his son's head. “I'm glad you had that time with him, Scorpius. I imagine this summer will hold plenty more. He... _really_ adores you. Worries for you. But he also has great faith in you.”

Scorpius smiles humbly to himself.

“Yeah,” Scorpius agrees eventually, snuggling closer as Draco relaxes back against the bed again. “I think he does.”

“Good. Never question it.”

Scorpius stares at him, considering his next words quietly, plucking at the blanket with his fingers between them. “Father?”

“What is it?” he asks, rather curious about the wordless thoughts flowing through his son's gaze.

“It's like...you're awake, Father,” Scorpius tries to tell him. “You were like this when I was _really_ little, and then...you sort of...drifted off in some ways, almost like you were sleeping at times or something. Especially when Mother died.”

“I barely remember much about this summer, Scorpius. I knew I was functioning enough to attend to your needs. Some days it does seem like an awful dream.”

“I was scared,” Scorpius confides in the late hour. “For you, I mean.”

Older, wiser, _regretful_ grey eyes close. “I know. I'm sorry. You deserved far better, and I failed you with my grief.”

His loving child traces the Dark Mark's ink without fear. Without anger or bitterness at all. “No, you didn't. You just felt far away sometimes.”

“Well, I shall do my best to be closer now and forever,” Draco vows. “I promise.”

“I know. I believe you.”

His soul tiredly fills with love from his son, with beautiful continued acceptance from his child's wondrous heart, and his words sound gravelly as they rumble out of his chest. “Thank you, Scorpius—for accepting me as I am.”

“Of course.” Scorpius curls against him with a heavy cheekbone pressuring to his chest. “You know...Mr. Potter asked me if he could stay over more often with me gone. He says he's missed you a lot, and he won't let the house feel empty or you be too alone. I'm glad. But if you really miss him, too, then Mr. Potter could stay with you, sometimes, even if I'm here. It'd be okay.”

Draco's lip curves. He nuzzles his nose to the pale head below him, and his arm tucks around Scorpius's torso. “His lease will likely be up late this summer. Perhaps we can...talk about the future then, hm?”

“Sure, Father,” Scorpius manages to say before a loud yawn. “You think Mr. Potter will really write me all spring?”

“Without fail.” Draco kisses Scorpius's hair. When his son doesn't reply, his breaths deepening, Draco murmurs with great tenderness into the quiet room, “And I think _you_ are finally falling asleep, my thinking boy. Goodnight, Scorpius.”  
  
Draco stays awake another hour to two, much like he had the night Harry had collapsed wordlessly into his arms...only this time Draco watches his beautiful child rest at peace until finally, eventually, he falls asleep, his stubborn heart refusing to feel empty ever again.

 

 

 

  
  


 


	68. f a i r y _ t a l e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

  


 

 

 

68.

 

f a i r y   t a l e

 

Overnight the trees of the forest transform into an icy crystal woods.  
  
Draco and Scorpius wake to the gorgeous display, and both take turns staring out the back door that morning at breakfast, watching the light reflecting off the crystalline surfaces as it winks at them through the bits of snow.

Silently they prepare together to Floo, as if speaking words will break the illusion that's it's simply just another day. When they get through into Diagon Alley and join the rest of the parents with children and trunks, Draco's chest aches with every step he takes. Each is successively more difficult than the last.

His cloak keeps him warm as they make their way forward to the station and Platform 9¾, and they rush through to the other side with Scorpius's trunk and birdcage in hand. Draco looks about the crowd and finds a bare spot along the stone farther down. Slowly they move through nagging mothers and yawing teenagers, excited younger children and laughing families.

When Draco stops the trunk, Scorpius pauses in front of him to set down Ceres' cage; the pretty female barn owl peeps at his child tiredly from within it. Father and son, they stare at one another, both quiet, both as silent as they'd been since Draco had waited as long as possible that morning to wake Scorpius curled against him in sleep.

Draco opens his arms without a word.

Scorpius snuggles into his chest and grips about his coat, holding tightly. A pointy little nose buries against his front, and Draco bends his chin and adjusts his cloak around his slightly shaking son when the wind picks up with a very cold breeze. His eyes are closed, his mind telling himself as it had the last time he'd put Scorpius on the train in the autumn that his son will be _fine_ , that once again it will be _good_ for him to have fun and be distracted with nonsense like parchment lengths and reading assignments and practical magic work. He tells himself there's still no better gift for grief than something to channel it with, and having gone without such an option himself, he knows the significance of Scorpius being able to go back to school with Albus and Rose after a _much_ needed holiday break together.

“It'll be fine,” he murmurs for them both, his voice soft yet strong against the rush of the wind and the chatter of the growing crowd. “Do your best in classes, but don't pressure yourself.”

“Okay, Father.”

“I'll write you every week. Every day, if you wish.”

“Sure.”

Draco exhales harshly into the cold, his breath fogging like tangible hope. “Enjoy the rest of term.”

He feels Scorpius nod against him. “I will.”

Draco gives him a tight hug, kisses his pale head, and steps back enough to brush a gloved thumb across his inherited handsome cheekbone. “You are cherished more than I can say, Scorpius. So strong, so powerful, and always growing. I love you, son.”  
  
“Love you, Father,” Scorpius whispers, blinking wetness down his cheek that Draco gently rubs away. “I'll miss you.”

“I will miss you, too.” Draco sniffs, keeping his emotions leashed as much as possible with the crowd increasing. “And if you need me, write. Say so. I will do what I can.”

Scorpius nods, and they both glance down when Ceres gives a softer version of her screechy cry, as if wanting to be remembered, too. His son's smaller fingers reach slightly into the cage, and the bird rubs against them happily.

“Take good care of her.”

“I will. Are you sure Arcanus will be okay without her?”

“Yes. He's a grumpy old man like me. He'll get on.”

Scorpius outright laughs, and the smile is like the dawn after the longest night. “You're not a grumpy old man, Father.”

Draco chuckles and shrugs, then stands up _quite_ straight upon feeling the hand brush over his lower back the way it had in a chocolate shop months ago. He turns, smiling, to find Harry dressed nicely from head-to-toe.

“Don't worry about your dad, Scorpius,” Harry says quietly, aware of people passing by curiously staring at them standing together. “He won't be alone today or any other day he doesn't want to be.”

Scorpius nods, relieved, and Harry comes closer around Draco's left; he bends briefly to greet the owl in her cage, and then he sweetly holds an arm open and waits for Scorpius to make a decision. Draco smiles softly when his son's eyes brighten, the boy shyly coming forward for the embrace. Harry holds Scorpius tight, nose to Scorpius's cheek, and whispers something Draco can't hear. But Scorpius nods all the same and pulls away, wiping his eyes.

“Scorpius,” Albus greets, pushing through with his trunk to their right.

Draco's head swings about to find the rest of the Weasleys and Potters catching up, the extended family all yawning and smiling and talking quietly: Ron murmurs to a half-asleep Hugo as Hermione talks with Rose at her side. Ginny walks with Lily in hand and James in front of her, followed by Molly and Arthur. 

Scorpius wipes his face again and greets His Friend Albus, the pair already planning what area of the train they're hoping to claim and what sweets they will share from the trolley.

Harry looks to Draco, clearly concerned for him, and Draco shrugs at the tiny frown between Harry's dark brows. His partner steps closer, but not too close, as if trying to give him love and closeness with proximity alone amongst all the eyes possibly watching. And though the little action means so much, it almost breaks him that he can't just _reach_ for the hand near his.

“Everyone ready?” Harry asks as the rest of the children swarm in front of them with trunks, bird cages, and matching grins. Albus, Scorpius, Rose, and James all respond at once, each with something different, adorably adding to the already rising crescendo of babble waiting for the train.

Lily stands with her mother to Harry's left along the platform, but she sends Draco a happy smile that he returns without qualm. Even Ginny nods in greeting that he sends back.

Ron bumps their shoulders together, surprising him, and Hermione greets him. “Hello, Draco.”

“Granger,” Draco replies, then flicks his eyes to Ron. “Weasel.”

Weasley rolls his blue eyes with a smirk.

Hermione's gaze rests over her excited daughter, the expression quite similar to the one he's worn all morning. “It's never really...easy...is it? You miss them more than they know.”

Draco sighs sympathetically.

“'Mione, she'll be all right. Rose'll be buried in a book soon, forgetting the weeks as they go by. Don't worry,” Weasley insists, his big hand patting over Hugo's yawning head. “Your sister's about to go. Wake up, Hugo. C'mon, now. You'll get a turn at this next autumn, and I bet you'll be too excited to be sleepy then. Or too nervous.”

“ _Dad_ ,” Hugo protests, ducking the hand teasing his hair, but finally twists and looks for his sister, reaching his arms around her neck for a moment, the siblings whispering their goodbyes.

Albus catches Draco's attention with his nervous shifting before him. Draco arches his brow, waiting, and Harry's quieter, Slytherin son lets go of his trunk long enough to push past a now detangled Rose and happy Scorpius and into Draco's patient arms. Scorpius adoringly observes them along with an equally smiling Harry and thoughtful Ginny, and Draco brushes his fingers kindly over Albus's dark wild hair.

“Remember you can write me—not only if you need to, but if you _wish_ to do so.”

“I will. I want to.”

“Good,” Draco says and tilts Albus's chin up, calm grey eyes searching the wide green ones back. “Have a good rest of term, Albus. And enjoy that lamp.”

“Thanks, Draco. I will,” Albus says, hugs him again, and lets go, cheeks red as Rose immediately smiles at her cousin. Scorpius elbows his best friend and practical brother, and the pair smirk at one another.

He feels eyes heavily staring at him, and so his gaze lifts to find James behind the children watching Draco closely, as if deep in thought. Draco nods to the teen, unsure of what else to say or do that might be welcome in such a public setting, but James doesn't nod back. He almost asks James if everything's all right, but the whistle startles everyone as the train pulls up alongside the platform, its red sides bright and eye catching. Harry and Ginny quickly call out to Albus, and Draco hugs his son one last time before the boys and Rose wave and begin to point at what carriage they'll enter.

James hugs his mother goodbye, and then he pauses in front of Draco and Harry where they stand still slightly apart. His brows furrow, and Harry's eldest shakes his head with determination.

“James?” Harry questions first, worried. “You all right?”

“Dad, you're happy, right?” James asks quite seriously. “He really makes you happy.”

“Yeah....” Harry trails off, puzzled, but smiling. “Are you okay?”

James doesn't answer. He sharply looks to Draco. “And you are, too? You're happy with Dad?”

Draco nods, just as confused, relieved for the loudness of the train for once. “Yes.”

James gathers himself and takes another step, eyes slinging between Draco and Harry as the train whines with reminder. “Then show it. You don't have to hide anymore.”

Draco stops breathing with the instant struggle of old fear.

“James,” Harry tries, gesturing, his voice quivering with his own worry. “It's not that simple.”

But the teenager isn't deterred at all, scolding them almost. “Don't you think you've hidden this long enough? Since before I was _born_?”

Draco closes his eyes, and Harry sighs softly. “Yes, but we want to do that on _our_ terms. When we are ready to deal with the rest of the world. You kids—”

“You think we care what the papers think? Why do _you_ care what the rest of the world thinks?”

“We don't, James, it's just—”

“You do.”

“We _don't_. You wouldn't understand. You didn't...live as we have, you haven't had the same oppression and fears we have.”

“You're the only ones stuck in the past,” James asserts, eyes soft.

Harry melts into a pool of emotion, smiling and frowning and sad all at once.

And then the green eyes slowly, cautiously look Draco's way.

Draco knows Harry's kept them hidden more for Draco's own fears than Harry's needs.

He knows they've always said they'd come out when they were ready. On their terms. But sometimes...sometimes such a thing can seem so far away, always over the next hill, always behind another excuse or very real worry until it vanishes from the horizon as a goal entirely.

Draco studies the love in those eyes behind their familiar glasses. The hope and sadness in the slightly curving lip. He sees how _beautiful_ Harry Potter is, how sacrificing He has always had to be, the tired, unrelenting Hero.

 _No more_ , Draco thinks. _No more._

And like the night he'd held out his hand and accepted his kinder fate, Draco decides to rip the blanket he's kept from his eyes for good.  
  
Slowly, intently, his fingers _reach_. They grasp Harry's nervous ones shaking just like his. And with wet, closing eyes, he leans forward as he had so many years ago.

Like that once upon a time, Draco Malfoy kisses Harry Potter. Softly. Passionately. A brief, breathless meeting again of open lips, his heart still harshly pounding away.

Like that once upon a time, there's a smirk and a smile between them replacing the old fear.

But this time—this time he doesn't have to wonder. He _knows_ what can _be_.

For he was never forgotten.

And his happily-ever-after just had more stepping stones than the rest.

 

 

  
  
  
  


 


	69. e m e r a l d

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

 

 

 

 

 

69.

 

e m e r a l d  
  
  


The gears of the wizarding world grind to a halt.

The closest witnesses all freeze as if choreographed—eyes unblinking, feet caught mid-step, hats half-off in the wind, hands stuck in the air seeming to forever wave farewell.

James smirks next to them, satisfied, with welcome acceptance in his face.

The rest of the children pause, Rose almost dropping Albus's trunk as the boy lets go of his end in surprise. Scorpius's humongous eyes reflect the growing sun shining off the snow scattered about. Lily giggles happily near her smiling grandparents. And Ron and Hermione both stare in shock alongside Ginny with her mouth falling open slightly under the scrutiny of all the eyes and all the gasps Draco's avoided for over a decade.

Draco and Harry part after another kiss, their eyes slowly opening wide.

Harry's cheeks are as red as his, but they're flushed with happiness. So _much_ happiness.

Draco huffs nervously, his thumb stroking the blushing warm cheekbone before him.

Whispers rise around them as more trunks are dropped, more jaws fall, and more eyes bug out, all ignoring the demanding call of the train. Draco is long past even being able to form a thought, let alone words, his mind running rapid with fears of the past and the craziest, most wonderful sense of freedom he's _ever_ felt.

Warily they look around at the stunned faces.

Some are smiling, some are sneering, and some have yet to even form an expression beyond shock. Draco searches for his son near the train, and when Scorpius merely grins supportively and waves as he boards, the noose around Draco's heart falls away completely.

James steps up to the closest carriage with his trunk. The teen spins about one last time, casting his gaze at the many parents and faces staring at Harry and Draco with astonishment, and with beautifully executed Potter attitude, James Sirius Potter loudly grunts, “Yeah, that's right, you nosy twits. They kissed. They're together. So what. You're the ones who look _weird_ staring like that.”

As if it's so normal and acceptable.

As if it's so simple.

As if it's not the most extraordinary thing to shock the English wizarding community in years.

Every set of chastised eyes _immediately_ look away from them, and Draco, in his astonishment and pride of James, bursts out laughing. Beautifully, unreservedly laughing with empowerment from the brave teen he'd once feared hating him, a teen now without walls like him.

The whistle blows, the doors close, and the train rolls away leaving an amused Weasley family watching as Draco holds onto Harry, smiling against His smile with arms about his partner's neck, both of them wrapped together in Fate's happy string.

  
  
  
  
  


 


	70. s m i t t e n (e p i l o g u e)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters/universe belong to JK Rowling/Thorne.

 

  
  


 

 

 

 

70.

 

s m i t t e n

 (e p i l o g u e)

  
For the first time, they walk hand in hand down the thoroughfare of Diagon Alley.

Heads turn and bodies crash into one another. A birdcage is dropped with a squawk.

The Alley has never been so quiet with so many people standing completely still.

Draco and Harry smirk together, neither saying a word. They just stroll past the open mouths and unblinking eyes with courage and acceptance. Harry leads Draco to Fortescue's for a quick hot chocolate, and they drink them near the window, smiling as they're seated together, pretending the faces on the other side of the glass aren't there at all.

Harry leaves a tip on the table when they finish; he ignores people inside getting desserts that have yet to pay in their staring, and he takes Draco's hand, escorting him back outside and over to the flat. The streets have gone from silent to buzzing with some judgmental coughs, grumbles, and even some giggles as they veer off the main path into the side alley by the wand shop.

Draco slips out of his cloak and coat when they enter the flat with the tiny group peeping around the alley buildings to watch the door shut. “Ridiculous,” he grumbles, shaking his head as Harry locks the door and steps by him to do the same. “How long, do you think?”

“The papers? They're already working on it. Two galleons says we're tomorrow's headlines on _everything_ publishable. Well, everything outside _The Quibbler_ because Luna's not like that.”

“I think someone took a photo when we came out of the shop.”

“Yeah. Some witch thinking we couldn't see her across the street.”

Draco crosses to the window on the other side of the room, peering out at faces down below hoping to peek up somehow. Witches and wizards scatter in the street the second they see him sneering. “If they knock on my door, I'll stun each and every one of them and leave them lying in the cold for as long as I like.”

“Honestly, they'll probably leave you alone there. I think you scare them,” Harry teases behind him, his steps closing in. “But expect to be followed here, for sure. Merlin knows I'll have new shadows for a while.”

“They'll get over it eventually, I suppose, but my...parents...will be mortified when they read the next papers. Pansy might scream in a good way.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, sounding nervous and sheepish. “Draco—”

Draco holds his palm up. “I stopped caring years ago when I left. I'm not ashamed of what we did today. I'm...relieved, even if I'm still twitching a little.”

Harry smiles softly, gorgeous in the soft white morning light. “I understand, babe.”

Thinking of the bravery of their children combined, Draco whispers, “Your son—all of our children—inspired me, Harry. It _proves_ how much I need them. How much _we_ do. And one day...one day they won't need _us_. One day we'll wonder how we were ever so important. What happens, then, Potter?”

Harry's lips part, and Draco continues, “Will I always be here...just...watching the rest of my life go by on that fucking swing? Will what I've done for Scorpius, for us, for your children, for _myself_ be _enough_ , be purpose?”

Fingers tighten over his arms in his jumper. Clothes rustle, and lips brush over his hair.

And Harry adjusts his arms around him, thunking his brow gently to Draco's head, those green eyes wide open to the depths of Potter's soul. “What happens, Draco, is you'll watch your son become himself more and more. You'll be proud of that freedom that you didn't have at his age. You'll be by _me_ holding my hand with each major milestone my children make. And you'll be on that swing in a _deserved_ rest, yes.”

Draco can't blink, the seriousness swallowing him.

Harry strokes his cheekbone. “But I'll be on that swing with you experiencing the quiet things of life, things we _fought for_ and never really enjoyed for ourselves. So don't you dare feel undeserving or afraid it isn't enough, Draco. Instead feel _accomplished_ when you understand that you've already done the hard work—that so little is required to find real peace. 'Cause when you do, babe, you'll finally _enjoy_ life as it is instead of despairing in what you think it must be.”

“How do you know?”

“I've seen a thing or two. Died and come back. You can take my word on it.”

“And you say you'll be there, swinging with me.”

Harry's green eyes shine with love behind his glasses. “Yep.”

Slyly, coyly, Draco steps forward and slips his fingers along Harry's jaw, sliding them down the top of his jumper and dragging the collar down to feel warm skin. “Okay, Harry.”

Harry nods. “So.”

“So,” Draco hums, still a bit stunned, himself. “We're _out_ , Potter. There's no going back now.”

“Nope,” Harry agrees breathlessly.

“So why don't we _really_ make it a day to remember?” Draco murmurs, winks, and leads Harry by the hand back into the main bedroom. “Shag me, Potter.”

“I will,” Harry vows, but stops him with a tug at his wrist. Gently he pushes Draco back upon the bed and turns away, rummaging through a drawer in his dresser. “First, though, _your damn gifts_. They're not all that much, really, 'cause I was honestly too damn busy to shop as much as I'd wanted to...but I've been holding onto them forever now.”

Draco cackles gleefully. “I told you you've been enough. But fine, yes, bring them here.”

Harry turns around with a handful of boxes and rests beside him on the comforter. “Open 'em.”

Smirking and pleased, Draco does so, fingers deftly tugging at green ribbons over a silver box that holds a gorgeous burgundy cashmere jumper. He lifts the soft texture up between his fingers skeptically, and Harry grins, muttering how he wants to see Draco in his _other_ colors, too. Laughing, Draco opens the next box, a smaller green one with a black bow, and he carefully handles the delicate large labradorite stone inside.

“Dunno if it has meaning or anything, but I saw it in a store, and I thought of you,” Harry admits sheepishly. “I remembered other stones in your study. Thought you'd like this one.”

Draco holds up the large specimen, eagerly showing Harry its changing shades. “Like a peacock's tail almost, this is. Labradorite, Harry, has many meanings...self-discovery and intuitive empowerment amongst them. Well chosen.”

Harry nods, clearly a bit relieved. And then he hands Draco one final box, a long thin black one with a _red_ bow on top. Draco cocks a brow but takes it, popping it open upon his lap.

There, nestled within soft white tissue, rests a Gryffindor tie.

 _The_ Gryffindor tie.

Draco's lips part, his heart touched as he gently strokes over the material.

“So...I know we've got yours at your place, and it was, ah, _fun_ to use,” Harry says, bumping their shoulders together with a laugh, “but I thought...well, I know more change will come, you know...with our schedules in time. And I hope that _one_ day we won't have to sleep apart at all, but until then...I thought you could have this for the nights I'm not with you. Something of me.”

Draco licks his lip as the wave of emotion hits, and he leans over, an arm hooked about Harry's neck warmly. “Thank you,” he murmurs into Harry's ear. “Thank you, Harry.”

“Welcome, babe,” Harry assures him, kissing his cheek.

With a soft pull, Draco falls upon his back, mouth to Harry's over top of him. “Love me.”

“Want to try this out?” Harry asks, holding the tie to the side.

Draco nods, grinning. “Blindfold me. Have your wicked ways with me, love.”

In seconds his eyes are closed and the tie is tied comfortably behind his head. Draco tries not to breathe too hard in his excitement, and his cock is already erect just from the _idea_ of what may come.

“You know,” Harry grumbles as he shifts about to Draco's hearing, “I almost want to go dig that box of hers out again like we did on New Year's. That peach stuff smelled nice. I've just got...ah...some regular lube here I bought on my own after we got together.”

“Cute of you to mention the peach lubricant and not the leather whip you spanked me with before you quickly threw it back in the box, you _adorable_ thing.”

“ _Shh_.” Hands suddenly tug at him in the darkness of his closed, covered eyes. “Arms up.”

Draco obeys, nerves tumbling with excited joy through him as his jumper is lifted off, his shirt after that. He lies back, shivering more from the warm fingers trailing hotly down his chest and belly to the button at his trousers than from the cold of the covers beneath him. His cock is _so_ hard, his stomach flexing its muscles as rough knuckles graze the skin there lovingly to unbutton and unzip him.

Harry carefully pulls his trousers off, his boxer briefs following.

And Draco rests there before him, completely naked and blindfolded, shuddering with delight.

Heated lips caress over his scars, a wet tongue brushes up past his navel as he twitches. Fingertips alternate like feathers grazing along his shoulders down his arms and hands to his hips and just above his cock before sliding _slowly_ the rest of the way down his thighs.

Draco moans softly, groin aching like the rest of him for more in the teasing start.  
  
The first lick to the head of his cock zips through him like electricity. He jerks, almost coming up off the covers, and Harry laughs softly somewhere nearby before hands push him back against pillows and a heady, sexy voice tells him to relax.  
  
Aroused to the point of wordlessness, Draco can only nod, can only breathe, his senses amazingly overtaken by touch, scent, and sound as warm palms press to his hips once and then move to cup and hold him, stroke him, _love_ him. Draco's body wracks with intensity as the hot mouth slides over him, suckles him, moves quickly up and down. Fingertips tease his sac, the sensitive flesh all around, and when Draco nearly comes from the overstimulation, the lips retreat.

Draco growls, fucking desperate and _loving_ every second of it. “Bastard. Do that again.”

Harry snickers and pulls away entirely.

Draco almost peeks, but his Gryffindor scolds him, and Draco grows more and more curious as he hears Harry undressing close by. Then, with a startle, the hands are back, and this time they combine with a gorgeously demanded, “ _Roll over_ , babe.”

As drawn to taking power and strength as he is, Draco Malfoy eagerly bends to something equally dominating, and he slips onto his stomach, groaning loudly when he feels Harry's weight atop him from behind. Teeth nip at his neck, his ear, his shoulder. The thick cock he wants rubs right along his bum, grinding against him tantalizingly slow and rough.

“I've been thinking about this,” Harry whispers into his ear. “So, Draco, I want you to imagine right now...that we're in Hogwarts. That we've snuck into the Prefects' bathroom and that we're in water. Warm water. You're resting against the side of the large bath, and I...I'm behind you.”

And Draco, blindfolded, can see it all somehow in his head as vivid as if it were real. The bubbles of the water take the place of the smaller pillows against his skin, the blankets become warm water beneath him with Harry's weight.

“Merlin's fucking arse, Harry,” Draco moans loudly. “ _Yes_.”

“I'm going to fuck you, Malfoy,” Harry says smugly. “And you're gonna like it.”

“ _Yes_.”

“Say my name, Malfoy.”

“ _Mm_ , Potter.”

“Louder.”

“ _Potter_ ,” Draco calls out. “Fuck me, Potter!”

“That's _better_.” Harry licks along his shoulder, kisses it once, and slightly lifts off of him. Draco jolts slightly at the cool, wet finger slipping along his arse and into him, and then he burrows his face against a larger pillow with a moan. Harry caresses inside of him, his mouth sucking Draco's earlobe. “You want me?”

“Yes, _fuck_ yes!”

Harry doesn't say anything at first, and Draco only starts to grow nervous for a single moment before his love presses against him again with a slick cock to his bum. “Then _have_ me, babe.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Draco hisses out in sexual desire the second the thick cock starts to fill him.

Bubbles, pillows, water, blankets, he doesn't care about focusing on anything anymore but Harry inside of him thrusting with soothing demand. Draco's mouth opens against the pillow, his teeth gritting together in pleasure as Harry goes slow and hard at first, and then begins to go faster, slapping into him, his bum slightly lifted up for comfort. Draco's cock rubs the blankets beneath him with each slide forward and each pull back of Harry's hands.

All he can hear is that smack of flesh to flesh, the hot _grunts_ escaping his partner and the moans cracking his own voice. All he can feel is touch _everywhere_ from soft covers and smooth skin, from the hair of Harry's legs and the pressure of lips to his back. All he can smell is Harry's strong, sexy scent and the blend of sex and sweat so signature and _them_.

“I love you,” Harry breathes behind him. “I love you so fucking much.”

“Love you too,” Draco speaks, barely able to say anything at all in the pleasure.

“I'm gonna hold your hand everywhere.”

“Do it,” Draco dares.

“I'm gonna snog you in _public_.”

“Yes!” Draco laughs.

“And they're gonna only _wish_ they were _us_ ,” Harry swears, his hips snapping harder and harder. “Fuck! Ah, ah!”

Desperately hard and on the verge already, Draco tries his best to hold out against the seduction of the blindfold and Harry's splendid dominance. He lets Harry hold his hips, allows Harry full control as he slips into something amazing in his mind, his body winding tighter and tighter as it manages to simultaneously melt into nothing. But when the head of Harry's erection drags against his prostate, Draco gasps loudly and comes against the blankets.

Harry moans with him and follows his lead, his orgasm strong enough to pull an almost shout from Harry's lungs, Draco's name nearly echoing in the room for a moment in the sudden silence as they both struggle for air.

A palm rubs over Draco's bum as a tongue licks up his spine and lips kiss the middle of it.

Draco sighs out, thoroughly satisfied.

Harry carefully withdraws, and Draco continues to lie there, a sticky mess, but a happy one.

Harry's brow teases up his side. The tip of his nose circles Draco's shoulder. “So. Blindfold?”

“Blindfold,” Draco agrees, breathing heavily still. Harry unties the knot, and Draco finally cracks a grey eye open, smiling at his _very_ proud partner beside him. Tenderly he moves closer and kisses Harry deeply, his tongue tasting remains of Harry's hot chocolate. Draco fingers the tie against Harry's chest, still in awe of its deeper meaning. “Thank you for this.”

“Welcome, Draco,” his love replies calmly with a brush of fingers through Draco's hair.

It takes them a few minutes to get up and get cleaned, and when Draco finishes first, he stumbles out of the bathroom, still quite naked, back to Harry's bedroom.

Harry enters with a chuckle not long after, muttering something under his breath.

When there's no teasing retort, green eyes scan the quiet body over the bed.

Draco doesn't respond because he can't. He's conked out from the emotional overhaul of the past while, let alone the last twenty-four hours and the _amazing_ sex they just had, spread like a star over the bed with his arms and legs stretched out diagonally. But that tie is in his grip, unable to fall away.  
  
He doesn't hear Harry's chuckles and barely feels as his partner rotates him limb by limb onto his side of the bed to cuddle up behind him.

Later, he wakes from his nap and dreams of red smiling lips, mind foggy like a cloud.

He wakes to an empty bed and the smell of coffee in the flat.

He wakes and shuffles, with his boxer briefs on, to glance into the kitchenette.

He wakes further, staring at his gorgeous partner standing near the stove, a grown sexy shirtless Gryffindor with a hot skillet tossing a pancake in a very, very late form of breakfast for dinner.

He stands there, awake to the sound of Harry's pleasant, satisfied humming.

And Draco, awash in that vision, is ready for the coming future, his crystal heart shining like a spectrum evermore.  
  


 

   
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Thank you for reading to the end. Thank you for sticking with the story, if you have, for about a year now. Thank you for being kind, patient, and understanding. I appreciate all of it, and I hope that you'll look forward to one shots and one other project (very large) that I am working on; it will take much time before posting, so just keep an eye out for my name sometime. 
> 
> I will admit that this story is quite possibly the longest conversation I've had with myself using characters. It's based with some heavy personal realism, and it's been extremely hard to finish with my own personal plot not quite there yet. 
> 
> But this story is also thus far the _biggest_ love letter I've ever written. 
> 
> I don't know if its intended recipient will ever read it. I can only hope one day that, if they do, they'll understand what I mean and what I hope and what I will give.
> 
> After all, I'm sitting on the swing. And hopefully someday they will, too.]

**Author's Note:**

> [Title and chapters are inspired by a theme of Beck's "Colors" song and video, since their name choices can allow us to infer even more about emotions and scenes than we might think at first.  
> Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8I1B4n_8Cto  
> Lyrics: https://genius.com/Beck-colors-lyrics  
> Titles chosen from lists on Wiki's "List of Colors."
> 
> Additional suggested music:  
> "The Ghost In You" - The Psychedelic Furs  
> "Missing You" - John Waite  
> "It's Better Not to Say Anything" - Dream Suicides  
> "Trouble" - Cat Stevens  
> "Steamroller" - Phoebe Bridgers  
> "The Night We Met" - Lord Huron  
> "Mystery of Love" - Sufjan Stevens  
> "Zoo Station" - NIN cover of U2  
> "Time is a Runaway" - The Alternate Routes  
> "So Here We Are" - Bloc Party  
> "Dreams" - The Cranberries  
> "Into the Open" - Heartless Bastards  
> "Let Me In" - Grouplove  
> "Fotzepolitic" - Cocteau Twins  
> "Tomorrow" - Electric Youth  
> "Can't Help Falling In Love" - twenty one pilots Cover  
> "eating ice cream" - Stevia Sphere (https://steviasphere.bandcamp.com/album/hammock)  
> "Moment of Nostalgia" - Crozet  
> "Bloom" - Troye Sivan  
> "Don't Be Shy" - Cat Stevens  
> "Lost Horizon" - VNV Nation  
> "Rain, in Your Black Eyes" - Ezio Bozzo  
> "Hunger" - Florence + The Machine  
> "Modigliani (Lost in Your Eyes)" - Book of Love]


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